


Don't Say a Word

by Eva_Emaria



Series: Alternate MCU-Mockingbird Edition [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters are younger than usual, F/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Original Character(s), based off an rp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eva_Emaria/pseuds/Eva_Emaria
Summary: AU, based on Bobbi being part of SHIELD during the attacks.There is a standing protocol, one that has never really been needed before. If anything happens to Agent Clinton "Clint" Barton, Agent Barbara "Bobbi" Morse is not to be contacted. No one has questioned why, because it has never been an issue. So when Loki manages to corrupt Agent Barton, Phil Coulson only briefly hesitates before contacting Bobbi.That is a mistake.(Retelling of Avengers as "alternate scenes," there are context cues to tell where they happen within the movie timeline. And then it goes down a fluff-road for a little while. Purely movie based, started before Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and not compliant as a result. Updates on Sundays.)





	1. Secret's Out

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an RP (loosely), this little fic is the beginning of a retelling of the MCU. We'll see how far I get with it and how quickly. This is not related to in my other fanfic, except for being based on the original RP before things mutated.
> 
> I don't like tagging my fanfics with sex-specific things when they aren't prevalent to the story, and since this isn't a PWP, they aren't. But there will be sex, there will be masturbation, I will include warnings in the chapters that include them so you know going in that they are there so you can skip when it starts. (I don't know why I wrote the scenes in the first place, but I did, so I'm going with it and dying of embarrassment later.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson does something pretty stupid. Bobbi proves that she's smarter than the average cookie.

Walking into the central part of the base, Agent Phil Coulson held off on accepting the ear piece one of the lower ranked agents tried to offer him. “One more call to make,” he said.

“Who hasn’t been called in already?” the young man asked in disbelief.

Coulson didn’t want to answer that. Technically, the agent in question was on the no-call list for this sort of thing. He wasn’t sure why, but the orders had always been that unless Fury outright stated to call her, she was to be left to her current mission.

Up until this point, Fury had always said her name, too.

But of all people, he thought she needed to know this. Barton and her were close, even if at times it seemed more like they were squabbling rather than getting along. Hell, the man had trained her for her first six official months out of the training stage, before Fury had swooped in and handpicked her as his current protégé. It would be like not calling Natasha, and he’d already made that unpleasant phone call. So he pulled out his phone and dialed a particular number, waiting patiently for her to pick up.

The repetitive ring cut off with a click. “Hello?” a breathless voice answered. There was a round of giggling and shushing in the background, as well as the clink of china. “Bella Martin speaking.”

“Bobbi, it’s Coulson,” Phil said, recognizing the alias for what it was. “You need to come in.”

“I’m sorry?” she had kept the breathless quality to her voice, but he heard a certain tone underlying it. Bobbi’s patented, you’re-not-the-boss-of-me, tone. The giggles were quieter—she must be walking away from the group.

Right, explain why first, then give the order. Bobbi was too smart to blindly accept orders from anybody, even Fury after the Alys Incident, as she’d started calling it. Taking a deep breath, he said, “It’s Barton.”

“What about him?” There was no stress to her voice yet. She had so much faith in Clint. Briefly, Phil wondered if the Hawk knew that. Probably not, with the way he sometimes talked about her when she wasn’t around.

But now Phil had to break that faith. “He’s been compromised.”

There was nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. Heavy, ragged breathing…followed by a loud thump. “No…” she breathed out, sounding like it hurt her to speak.

“He isn’t dead,” Phil assured her. “He’s just been misdirected somehow.” Still that harsh breathing, no answer. “We’re looking for him now.” A small lie, but she needed to hear it. “Bobbi, are you there?” Nothing. “Agent Morse!” he barked.

Silence, and then. “Don’t try to stop me.” And the line went dead.

“Bobbi. Bobbi!” Snapping his own phone shut, Phil saw that Fury was calling for them to disappear up on the main deck. “Damn.” Pocketing his phone, he took the earpiece from the startled agent. “Hopefully she’ll hold off on whatever mad-cap idea she’s got now…” he muttered before stepping out to meet the others and alert them to the status of their search. He knew that was a false hope to have, but he had to try.

*****

Snapping her phone shut, Bobbi clutched it to her chest. A part of her refused to process what was going on, wailing that Clint was gone, lost, just like everyone else she’d ever dared care deeply about. The more rational part of her…was angry, and already planning the next steps. First, she needed to get away from Bella’s airheaded friends, get to where her suit and her weapons were.

And that was easy. She pushed the rational part to the back of her mind for later and let her emotions have full force. Bobbi let out a hard sob, holding on to the railing of the balcony to keep from completely falling to the ground. Her knees already hurt from them losing their ability to hold her weight in her upset, sending her sprawling to the ground.

She heard one of the other women scramble to her feet, calling her alias’s name. She was almost deaf to it, lost in the storm of panic and fear. Bobbi felt hands on her shoulders, and forced herself to stay relaxed rather than tense up or worse, try to fight.

“Bella, what happened?” the woman asked, obviously distressed.

_Lie, Morse. Lie like your life depended on it. Or rather, Clint’s. It very well might._ Bobbi took a shuddering breath and managed to whimper out convincingly, “It’s C-Chris! He’s… He’s MIA…” Chris was the name of this alias’s young husband, a sniper with the army that no one had ever met since he was gone so often, and not really a society person to begin with.

There was appropriate gasps—apparently the woman hadn’t come alone—and someone shouting to fetch Mrs. Martin’s car and driver immediately. Thankfully, both belonged to SHIELD, so she wouldn’t have to do too much explaining.

In fact, the driver was someone she had gone through training orientation with, before they were assigned SOs. She knew when Daniels arrived, not because he said something, but because he immediately swept her up in her arms and carried her out to the waiting car with no questions asked. He sat her in the backseat, and she quickly hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking in suppressed tears.

“Take her home,” one of the society women ordered Daniels like he was her own driver. “We’ll call to check on her tomorrow and keep the press quiet about this. Tell her all hope isn’t lost yet, once she’s more sensible.”

Bless him, Daniels didn’t sound the least perturbed as he thanked the civilian. He climbed into the car and waited for them to be on their way before he said, “We’re out, Bobbi. You can cut out the crocodile tears.”

If only it was that easy. Bobbi wiped at her eyes, not caring a wit that she was ruining “Bella’s” perfect make-up, taking steadying breaths.

From his vantage point in the front via the rear view mirror, Daniels frowned. If it had all been a show, a ploy to get out of there early with a good excuse to cover her, Bobbi would have dropped her upset visage in an instant. Instead, it was taking obvious, physical effort for her to pull herself together. Damn. She was actually upset. “What’s wrong?” he asked tensely.

“Get us to the safe house,” she said, avoiding the question entirely.

Only not. Daniels swallowed. They’d never actually used the trio of safe houses that Bobbi had set up, at least the ones he knew about (it was Bobbi, he was sure there was one or two he _didn’t_ know about too). But if she was saying they needed to go there, then it was life or death for somebody. He shut up and hit the gas, pushing the car as fast as possible to the next location.

*****

They pulled into the back garden of a falling-apart house. Daniels barely had gotten the car under the cover of the stable-but-shabby-looking garage before Bobbi was already out her door, pulling up the tarp and punching into the code for the underground bunker. She ran down the steps, and Daniels had to scramble to catch up, despite having almost six inches on her in height.

“Morse, what’s going on?” he demanded answers, throwing his shades on to the table in the center of the small room that comprised half of the bunker.

It was contradictory, seeing Bobbi in that alias in this setting. A pretty blonde, it was in a next-door-girl sort of way, nothing special. Super blonde hair, tan skin, blue eyes, average height. She was dressed like a socialite, in a long sleeved black dress with lace over the collarbone instead of cloth so it still came up to her neck while exposing some skin, while the skirt stopped at her mid-thigh, and knee-high boots. The carefully arranged bun on the back of her head was a mess, as was the make-up. It still contrasted sharply with the fact she was throwing weapons down on the table from the locker they kept—not that they would look like weapons to the casual eye either, but he knew better.

“I have to go,” she said simply, pausing over something in the locker. He couldn’t right tell what it was.

“Go where?” he demanded. He’d been partners with Bobbi Morse for years now, and she’d never acted like this.

She whirled around, and he realized she was holding a canister meant to be able to pass for a pen at first sight. “I’m sorry,” she said, and a cloud of gas exploded in his face from the canister.

Coughing, he stumbled back a few steps, waving at the air in front of his face. It was too late though, and the room spun before it went dark.

Bobbi, for her part, barely made it around the table to catch him with a grunt. Six foot tall ex-Marine, had to have at least a hundred pounds on her, and he still hadn’t learned not to trust his partner any more than anyone else. She grimaced. And she bet the lesson stuck this time. She carefully lowered him to the ground, leaning him against one of the bare walls…and then grabbed the hand cuffs and snapped them on one wrist, the other on a metal support rod nearby. Searching him, she made sure to get all the communication devices off of him she could find.

Only then did she stand up and duck into the second room. While the first room was the armory, the second was a hodge-podge mix of what else was needed. Infirmary in one quarter, food storage in another, vehicle storage taking the last half of the space. She grabbed a particular set of tools and attacked the smaller vehicle stored at this safe house, a SHIELD specialty motorcycle. She’d seen it when it was in pieces, and knew exactly which pieces were the protocol tracers…and the ones that weren’t protocol. The car had them too, but the bike’s were easier to access to remove, and as long as she had cash on hand to pay for gas, there wouldn’t be a credit trail even with the smaller tank.

Bobbi had roughly twenty minutes before Daniels woke up. She had to make them count.

*****

Coulson set his hands, carefully, on the computer tech’s desk lest he slam it into the floor. “What do you mean, you lost her?” he said from between his teeth.

“I just meant her location doesn’t make sense, sir,” the communication tech quickly tried to cover herself. “Her tracers are showing up in some beat up part of town.”

“All of them?” he confirmed. While most agents knew they were double traced, they usually couldn’t find the backup ones that were meant to keep them safe in case of an emergency.

“Both sets, sir, hers and Daniels.”

Daniels. Phil breathed out. He’d trained Charles Daniels. A good man, he wouldn’t let Bobbi do anything stupid. He was meant to serve as a point-man for her more specialized skill set, as well as her support in a tight spot. She wouldn’t be able to snow him.

The phone in his pocket went off, and he quickly answered it without checking the caller ID. “Morse?”

“No, sir, though I’d pay good money to know where she is,” Daniels growled from the end of the line.

The bottom of Phil’s stomach dropped out. “She’s not with you?”

“No, sir,” Daniels confirmed. “Something upset her during an information gathering mission. She got herself where I got called in by the civilians, I got her out. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just ordered me to take us to the safe house. And then she knocked me out and cuffed me to the wall while she made her escape.”

“What vehicle did she take?” Coulson asked, snapping his fingers at the tech and gesturing for a pen and paper.

They had barely reached his hands before Daniels said, “Looks like she took the bike… Damn.”

“Daniels?”

“She cut out anything that could be traced, sir.”

Phil closed his eyes and swore, making the communication agent jump. “That safe house have an armory?” he asked. It would fit with Bobbi’s paranoid way of thinking.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do an inventory, let me know what’s all missing,” he said. “I want to know what she has on her.”

“At least one bracelet for sure, sir. I saw that before I got knocked out. I’ll check to see what else.”

Grenades. Bobbi was rogue and she had grenades. This was just getting better. “Call me back as soon as you know,” he said, and hung up without saying good-bye. He pointed a finger at the tech. “If anything pops up with her signature on it, you let me know. Immediately, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she stuttered, and he ducked out of the room.

Phil was swearing mentally as he calmly walked down the halls of the helicarrier. He was running out of options. He didn’t dare let Fury on that he had a second rogue agent, even if that agent was working towards finding Barton too. Partly because he didn’t want to get caught for his mess up…mostly because he didn’t know what Fury would do to Bobbi. The brat had a way of worming her way into your affections, and he was no exception.

So now he was about to call in a favor. A big one.

He spotted Natasha on her way back to the main room where the search was still on for Loki and Barton. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into a nearby room, barely glancing at her to confirm that she wasn’t about to shoot him for manhandling her.

The Russian had both her brows raised, her mouth puckered together to show she was at least thinking about it.

“I’m calling in a favor,” he said, glancing out the door covertly to make sure no one was looking for them.

“Now?” she said, incredulously. “We’re in the middle of something here, Coulson.”

“Yes, now.” He met her eyes. “Faster would be better.”

“What?” she asked, obviously not willing to beat around the bush.

Neither was he. “There’s another rogue agent,” he said. “I need you to find her and bring her back—alive and unharmed,” always important to qualify that with a former assassin, “—before Fury finds out about it.”

“I think he needs to know if someone else is working with Loki we don’t know about!” she hissed at him, and moved towards the door.

He blocked it and mentally cringed, staring at the wall rather than at her. This was going to be painful to say. “She isn’t with Loki, Natasha. She’s going after Clint.”

“Who would go off alone…” Natasha trailed off, and he knew she was connecting the dots. Sure enough, she slammed both her palms into his chest with an angry shove. “Damn it, Phil! She’s on the not-call list for a _reason!”_

“It’s _Barton,”_ he tried to defend himself. “I thought she deserved to know in these circumstances!”

“Barton is why she’s on that list in the first place!” Natasha almost shouted, surprising him, as she waved her hands in obvious frustration. “Or are you as blind as he is?”

He had no idea what that meant, so he just pressed on. “She’s gone completely off the grid, Natasha. Knocked out her partner, took off on a vehicle that she managed to remove all our tracers off of, with no tracers on her.” He paused, letting that sink in. It was something they didn’t think Morse was capable of…which was stupid of them, she’d spent six months training with Barton when he was free and then another six months solid under Fury before she’d been given solo missions and sporadic more training when she sought it out, whenever that was.

And Phil was supposed to know how skilled she was. He’d recruited her in the first place.

For her part, Natasha smoothed her face into calm. “Tell Fury and get him to assign a lesser agent to find her,” she said. “I’m going after Barton. End of discussion.” She shouldered past him.

Coulson turned with her, and before she could open the door, he said one word. “Budapest.”

She froze.

“You owe me, Natasha,” he said. “Red in your ledger.”

It was both the right and the wrong thing to say. “Damn you, Coulson,” she hissed, making it clear he had lost his hold over her. And then she sighed. “What were her last coordinates?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles Daniels is played by Joseph Gordon Levitt


	2. Flushing Out a Mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha tracks down Bobbi. There's a stand-off. And maybe a little bit of understanding...

Natasha tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as she waited for the massive gates to open. Morse’s last transmission had come from inside some old French nobility’s mansion. Or rather, she’d swiped her ID card there. Agents carried physically untraceable access cards to use SHIELD equipment that they didn’t normally, just to keep casual users out of the quinjets but keep any semi-public computers from having information on every agent. Instead, it just read the code, recognized the security clearance attached, and allowed access. And sent up a flag in the SHIELD system that was usually ignored…unless you’d done something that made tracking your movements necessary.

Bobbi had needed something here badly enough to leave a trail. Natasha just had to find out what.

At last, the gate opened and she was allowed in. The circle drive was paved, with elegantly maintained gardens edging it. It killed her to admit it, but it was impressive. She parked and pocketed the keys rather than handing them to the waiting valet.

A middle-aged gentleman quickly walked down the steps. “Agent,” he said congenially.

_“Monsieur_ St. Clair,” she said, stopping at the base of the stairs. “I understand Agent Morse has been through here?”

“Yes, and left the staff in a tizzy.” He chuckled and tucked his hands into his pant pockets, stopping a couple steps up from her. His shirt was partially unbuttoned under his waist coat, revealing that despite his age, he was still quite handsome. His accent was light, but noticeably French. “They are used to dealing with her as my Rose, not as the efficient SHIELD agent. And they weren’t expecting the garage to be secretly housing one of your jets, either. Or for _Mademoiselle_ Morse to be so efficient with tools.”

Damn. Morse had ripped the tracers out of another vehicle after she accessed it. Natasha was going to kill whoever had told someone that green about where the tracers were, just to keep this situation from ever happening again. She managed a smile at the contact of Morse’s at least. “Thank you. She’s being a bit contrary to track down so I can give her the new information on her next assignment.” That was the excuse Natasha was using to talk to these people without raising any red alerts.

He hummed and looked up thoughtfully. “She mentioned something about going to the last place her mentor took her, wanting to reconnect with him. Does that help you?”

Natasha thought quickly. There were a lot of places that could mean. She thought Morse had been referring to Clint, but where did he take her last? This was going to involve some more calls, but it was the first hint she’d gotten.

The gentleman tilted his head. “The sun has almost set. Would you care to join me for supper and then resume your chase?”

It would give her a chance to check in with Coulson. “Yes, thank you,” she accepted, though she kept her keys in her pocket. Just in case.

*****

Coulson had told her that he knew of the place Morse had been referring to, or at least the general area. It was a safe house of Barton’s, the only one he had as afar as scuttlebutt knew. It made sense for him to take Morse there, in his last days as his SO. Setting up safe houses was more minor than Fury really should be bothered with, so one last lesson before he washed his hands of the girl.

Only he hadn’t. Natasha frowned, thinking on this as she searched a particular section of backwoods right on the border between the US and Canada in a grid pattern from her own jet, also removed of tracers in order to cover Coulson’s ass. She still didn’t understand the relationship between the two, just that it was there. It confused the gossips too, who were so quick to throw Natasha and Clint into a supposed relationship…until they saw him with the Mockingbird, and then they weren’t sure which way the hawk flew, under his flirtations and flings.

She wasn’t sure herself, so how could she correct them?

At last, she spotted a snow-covered roof, since the spring thaws here were relative in their time frame. She found a good clearing for landing, and exited the jet. There were a few turrets hidden in trees, but they seemed to recognize her on sight. She upped her impression of Clint’s safe house a good deal.

The house was a simple two-story cabin, though it looked pretty snug. No way it had more than one bedroom. She entered through the front door, using caution. Inside, she discovered there was actually a loft over half of a living space, the rest open. The windows were the only light downstairs, with a light on in the loft way behind the half-wall at the top of the stairs. All the furniture was covered in protective sheets, just a couch and she thought a love seat. The fireplace was empty, even of a fire despite the cold that penetrated the house. The only decoration she saw was some kind of corkboard on a wall on the far side of the fireplace with bits of paper pinned to it, a dart board mirroring it on the other.

“Morse?” she called, her hand hovering over the gun at her hip. She turned around in the room, trying to catch sight of the girl.

There was a click behind and above her. “Get out, Red,” Morse’s cold voice came soon after.

Whipping around, Natasha found Morse at last. She was hidden in the shadows of the lamp’s light, her blonde hair easily mistaken as the glow of the light hitting something. But now she stepped out, revealing that she was in her Mockingbird suit, twin staves strapped to her back and various other small bits tucked away, capable of doing God knows what. The gun in her hands was a revolver.

Natasha managed to refrain from snorting, though she did raise one brow. “Bad bluff, Morse,” she said, keeping her tone calm. “Everyone knows you can’t hit what you aim at.”

She raised her brow back at Natasha, oddly calm for the normally bubbly Morse. Her eyes looked almost dead. “Who says there are bullets in this gun that need to hit to do what I want them to do?” she questioned, pulling back the pin.

Natasha swallowed, her sure sense of superiority washed away as she remembered Coulson’s only warning before he saw her off.

_“Whatever you do, don’t try to draw her into a firefight.”_

_“Why? Everyone knows Morse can’t use a gun except as a club.”_

_“Exactly. One of our best field agents is incompetent with fire arms. What do you think that means?”_

_Natasha hadn’t had an answer._

_“Bobbi compensates,” Coulson explained. “She uses everything she has to her advantage…and will never play fair if it means losing something dear to her. Trust me, Natasha. The last thing you want to do right now is get her to point a gun at you, or for you to do the same to her.”_

First mistake. Natasha quickly held her hands up. “I’m not here to fight,” she said. “I’m here to help.”

Morse did snort. “Pull the other one, they need evening,” she said. Despite it being typical Morse wording, it was lacking her usual joy in mocking people. Her eyes flicked down at something in front of her, but then back on Natasha before she had time to even shift her weight.

“Bobbi,” Natasha said, trying to speak patiently like with a child. “We’re looking for Clint, you know we are.”

Tilting her head, Morse finally smiled. It was bitter and far too knowing. Was this really the woman that Natasha was sent to find? The blonde with the easy smile and friendly with everyone regardless of who they were? “For Clint…or for the Tesseract?” she asked.

Natasha’s mouth ran dry. All the efforts had been geared towards the alien technology. She’d rationalized it, because finding Loki and the Tesseract meant finding Clint too, right? But she couldn’t honestly say that they were focused on Clint, and Bobbi could spot lies as easily as she could tell them. So instead, the truth. “We find the Tesseract, we find him.”

“We find him, we find the Tesseract.”

Or not. Natasha scowled. “The Tesseract could destroy the world if it’s left in the wrong hands. It has to take the greater priority.”

“To you.” Morse didn’t seem to care at all about the safety of the world, though Natasha knew it was because they were talking Barton that it seemed that way. “My attention is elsewhere.”

Okay, fine. If she was going to be stubborn… “If you help, we’d find him that much faster,” Natasha tried to argue.

“I am.” Morse shrugged one shoulder, relaxed and calm. And still aiming that gun in Natasha’s direction. “Now get out so I can get back to it. I’ll be back once I find him.”

“What can you do that dozens of other agents aren’t already doing?” Natasha said.

Her smile was gone, as was the calm. “You don’t know anything,” she spat. Her hand was shaking, Natasha could see it from here. “I’ll find him, and I’ll bring him back.”

Her steady surety was too much for Natasha’s curiosity. “Alright,” she said. “I believe you. But… Can you really do it alone? No back up, not even a second set of hands?”

At last, a shred of doubt entered her expression. She locked the pin back into place, but didn’t lower the gun quite yet. “Did you remove the tracks on your jet?”

“Of course.”

The gun lowered, but didn’t disappear from sight. “You’ll stay down there,” Morse ordered. And then reluctantly sighed. “Space is cramped up here anyway. Clint hasn’t cleaned this place out in months, and he’s a clutter bug.”

Natasha managed a chuckle. “He is,” she agreed. It about drove her nuts. She lowered her hands, and made no move of going up the stairs. She’d take Morse back once she found whatever it was she was looking for. “What all is up there?”

“The network,” Bobbi said factually. The gun disappeared from sight, and she now gave all her attention to whatever was in front of her, except to check on Natasha with quick glances. And what she saw made her grin a little, almost triumphantly. “I take it Clint never shared?”

It would kill her to say it, so Natasha just pressed her lips together and started poking around the downstairs. Morse was a chatterbox and would no doubt explain anyway.

Sure enough… “Clint has a network of safe houses,” she said. “While I was training under him, he took me to all his current ones so I could see how the different types were laid out, how to set them up to be self-sufficient or to only need occasional visits. How to hide them from obvious air or ground traffic. We came here, our last weekend before Fury’s take over…” She trailed off, her upset choking her.

Natasha glanced up, but all she saw was Morse’s golden hair. She found a stack of paper personnel files on a bookshelf and picked the top one up. It was actually Morse’s psych eval from her trainee orientation, listing her as actually more unstable than Natasha herself. That took doing. And there, highlighted so Clint would notice it first if he ever bothered to read the damn things, was the reason why she was on the no-call list. No outside emotional ties, no real solid community ties, and already starting to cling to Coulson, her primary contact at the time. A warning that Morse would tie herself to people who involved themselves in her life and would never let go. And would defy orders if necessary to keep them safe.

Throwing the folders down in disgust at her situation, Natasha said, “So this place is special to you both.”

“Yes,” Morse said, obviously having collected herself. “It was part of my beginning network. I branched off from there, adding to it to make my own. Barton shared what he had shown me…and tried to add to it without me knowing.”

“Tried?” Natasha said as she moved to examine the dartboard.

“I let him think he could keep secrets from me.”

_That didn’t sound stalkery at all,_ Natasha thought sarcastically but didn’t say it. She knew Morse meant well. It was startling though to hear that she and Barton had a secret network of safe houses that none of them knew about. What else was there that they didn’t know about the two supposed easy-reads of the elite agents?

The pin board showed that it was actually a collection of things that mattered to both Clint and Morse. There was a pamphlet from his time in the circus, pictures of him with his brother. One of him practicing his archery as a teenager, making Natasha grin at how scrawny he was. There was a picture of Morse with a woman in a hospital bed that looked a lot like her, when she had to be barely into her teens, and then with a taller man as a young child, both of them coated up to their elbows in finger paints as they sat at a child-sized table in a living room somewhere.

There were several more recent pictures too. One of Clint and Natasha, both of them banged up in the infirmary. While they weren’t smiling, they were relaxed for once. One of Coulson and Morse, both covered in some sort of food and while Coulson’s smile was indulgent, Morse was laughing. A photo of Morse with her partner, Daniels, a tall man a handful of years older than her with dark hair, a broad forehead and chin, and narrow eyes that were quick to show his emotions whether he liked it or not. They were both in their usual work out gear, Morse leaning over his shoulders. From the angle, it looked like Daniels was holding the camera to take the picture, both of them giving tired but enthusiastic smiles. If Natasha was to guess, this was during their rookie year. Last picture, this time of Coulson and Daniels sitting together on the same bench at a diner somewhere, smiling like they were humoring the picture taker.

Natasha paused, and tapped the board. The four recent pictures were laid out in an almost perfect grid…with a large open space in between them. There was even a pin there, like it had been holding another picture.

She opened her mouth, turning her head to look up at the loft…but decided not to say anything. Right now, Morse was willing to work with her. Pointing out the empty space might start another stand-off. Natasha looked back at the board and frowned at it, head titling. What was the other picture of that Clint or Morse had felt the need to take it down?


	3. Murmurs of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki learns something new. Bobbi and Natasha have their version of girl-talk.

“So, where’s your duckling, Barton?”

He looked up from working on a set of arrows to replace the ones he’d left behind at SHIELD. “Pardon?” he asked, brow furrowed.

The soldier in question, a man named Colt, was chewing on the end of a cigar. He grinned around it. “You know who I mean. Can’t remember seeing you without her.”

Another soldier nearby decided butting in was a great idea. “Yeah, would have thought the Black Widow would have followed you to the ends of the earth.”

“No,” Colt protested, waving so-said cigar to accent his point. “Not the redhead. The blonde.”

“Oh, her,” the intruder said with a sagely nod. “I met her once or twice.”

“When she dislocated your jaw with that nice roundhouse,” the cigar smoker pointed out with a roar-like laughter, making his companion scowl. “Feisty one, she is. And a bit of a looker too.”

Clint’s spine stiffened as he realized who they were talking about. Bobbi. He glared at them but decided not to dignify that with a response. Just because they were good at what they did and were enemies of SHIELD didn’t mean they were good guys, or even decent human beings. Grabbing his arrows, he stalked out of the common room the troops were sharing for now and went to get some air.

He took a deep breath as he reached the opening of the catacombs, the freshness helping relieve him of the building stress. It seemed like it was so easy to make him angry now that he had been given a proper target. But then, Bobbi had always been a blind spot of his, easy to hit and easy to get him to react. Little squirt…

Leaning against the opening rather than go outside and risk being spotted, he reached into his inside jacket and pulled out the photo he didn’t dare let Bobbi know he carried with him. She’d never let him live it down. It was a picture from a dinner out they’d had with Coulson and Daniels. The one of the two point-men was still on the corkboard at the cabin, but this one was one that Bobbi had badgered Daniels into taking.

Clint had been talked into going…or rather bribed. Bobbi had pouted and said she was going to wear a dress and everything. In the nine months he’d known her at that point, he hadn’t even seen her in a skirt. Not that he’d seen much of her in the three months leading up to the dinner in question. Fury had taken her under his wing, and she had been moved into the espionage and undercover unit. He’d _had_ to go to that beat-up diner at that point.

Clint chuckled as he looked at the picture. Bobbi had tucked herself into the curve of his body, beaming at the camera. He’d humored her, his arm loosely draped over her shoulders and smiling. The leather of his jacket contrasted with the soft denim of hers, same with his favorite, muted red t-shirt and the navy and white of her dress.

The bodice had been too snug for her, the neckline too deep. The jacket had been a necessity to keep her decent by most people’s standards. He’d known instantly the dress wasn’t actually hers, but it had been sweet of her to live up to her promise. And he was a guy. Even if he had firmly put Bobbi in a place where he would never see her as a potential date, he wasn’t going to turn down a chance to sneak glances at her cleavage.

A pale hand reached out and snatched the photo from his grasp.

Whirling around, he saw that it was Loki who actually had it, holding it curiously in front of him. The Asgardian was deceptively frail in appearance under the heavily structured garments meant to lend his frame visual weight. His hair was slicked back, his face gaunt and tired…but pale eyes focused. He looked up after taking a second to take in his prize. “She is lovely, Barton,” he said, with a slight grin tugging at his lips. “A lover, perhaps?”

“No, sir,” Clint quickly assured him with a grimace. “Just a fellow agent and friend.”

“Hmm,” Loki hummed, looking at the picture again. “And yet, you look close… You carry her picture near to your heart… And I heard Colt mentioned being surprised not to see her here. Why did you not recruit her?”

Clint clenched his hand into a fist to restrain from snapping his picture back. “Bobbi is too loyal to SHIELD,” he said, sure of it down to his bones. She’d never betray the agency that had become her life. Not even to follow him to a grander purpose.

A part of him stirred, a fragment, a whisper of a thought. Neither would he. After all, hadn’t he been the one to instill that sense of loyalty in her? He shook his head to get rid of it. No, Bobbi had always been almost fanatically loyal. She was probably standing beside Fury now, trying to help locate the Tesseract.

“Perhaps.” Loki both agreed and disagreed at the same time, as Clint was discovering his way. “I believe it’s time we find you your eyeball, Barton.”

“Agreed, sir,” Clint said. But rather than leave…he held out his hand for his picture.

Loki managed to restrain his expression to a tense smile. Barton had enough will to actually demand something first? How?  It was something to ponder. He held out the photo between his index and middle fingers. The former SHIELD agent took it with a quick snap that suggested he’d been getting impatient about Loki having it in the first place, and then stalked down the hallways to finish his prep.

Watching the archer leave, Loki let his mind twist and turn this new information. He rather liked his new minion. Barton was effective at his duties, and bold with his actions and way of planning. There was more intelligence there than Loki thought the man let on. If Loki could, he wanted to keep Barton on as a member of his guard when he returned to the throne, provided the archer survived the invasion. It would be easier if he had something to help anchor the staff’s effects on the mortal.

In his mind’s eye, he recalled the image of the two blonde humans. Barton’s heart was guarded, it was his actions that proved its power and true strength. But the girl, this Bobbi…she wore hers on her sleeve for all who knew what to see. And he had seen the look in her eyes often enough reflected in Sif’s as she looked at his brother. Bobbi would join for Barton’s sake, provided Loki found the right place to reach her.

“If you do not have heart, what _do_ you have, fair lady?” he murmured. That would be the key to recruiting her and bringing her under the thrall of the Tesseract. Of course, he would also have to find her…but he had a feeling she would make that easy enough as long as he had Barton.

*****

Natasha shut the phone with a snap, knowing Morse was watching her to make sure she didn’t stay on the phone long enough for Coulson to set a trace. “They’ve found Loki in Germany,” she said. “Coulson is taking Rogers there now to apprehend him.”

“Germany…?” Morse repeated, and then stared at whatever this network was in front of her. “What is he doing there?” she asked.

Even if it was rhetorical, something Coulson said was still bothering Natasha. “They aren’t sure. He isn’t exactly trying to hide either. No sign of Barton.”

“Oh I know that maneuver,” Morse said. “Clint had me do it a couple times.”

“What maneuver?”

“A distraction,” Morse said. “Basically, Loki is the pretty girl that the guards are looking at while he breaks in somewhere nearby so any chance of fuss is spent on the guards chasing the girl… Or Loki, as the case might be.”

Natasha blinked, and mentally swore at herself. That was so obvious, why hadn’t she thought of it? It was very much typical Clint behavior too, just like Morse had said. She walked to the steps and started climbing them without thinking. “If he’s breaking in somewhere, his bolt-hole will be nearby,” she said with surety. Standard procedure for SHIELD agents, so local authority wouldn’t be able to take them in.

In a flash, Morse had the revolver up and pointed back at her. “I told you to stay down there, Red,” she warned…but hadn’t pulled back the pin.

Freezing on the stairs, Natasha held up her hands again, showing she’d meant no harm. She’d gotten too excited. She refused to take a step back, but she didn’t advance any farther up.

Morse was right though. Clint was a complete hoarder, just more organized about it. There were boxes being stored up in the loft, making the space between the desk-like ledge attached to the half wall and the two twin beds tight. Rather than a dresser, it looked like there were drawers under the beds—the hand of Morse, if Natasha were to guess, since this place was as much hers as Clint’s.

There was a series of computer monitors against the wall—security footage, mostly, of the nearby woods, except one. The exception was reading off the reports currently being filed at SHIELD headquarters, a search algorithm in place to filter out ones relating to Barton. Spread out on the table itself was a 3-D map of the world, with a series of flashing dots on it. It was already in the process of recalibrating to be a zoom-in on central Europe, which also had the fewest number of dots in it.

Wavering, Morse kept the gun on Natasha but had to turn her attention to the map. “None of these are giving out high enough energy readings to house the Tesseract,” she muttered, and swiped her hand over the map. Some of the lights flickered out, leaving only a handful left.

They were close enough to a location, Natasha could taste it. She had to help. “He’d need somewhere large enough for a full unit of men,” she said. “This isn’t a small operation.”

Glancing up at her, Morse frowned. “I’ve already eliminated the single-occupancy spaces. Everything else could house at least ten people, more depending on personal space issues.”

The scientists, the ones who had been working with the alien tech. “Up that to twenty-five,” she said. “They have both soldiers and lab techs.”

Morse nodded, typing something on a keyboard that Natasha still couldn’t see. Immediately, almost all the remaining lights went out. She paused, looking at the remaining two. “The catacombs,” she said softly.

“What?”

“It’s… there’s an abandoned cemetery, middle of the countryside, no real neighbors,” Morse explained, hitting something that made the whole map went dark. “I hate it, but Barton has the expansive catacombs underneath outfitted for large numbers, should we ever need it. Unless someone is there, it shouldn’t be throwing out high energy readings.” She looked at Natasha, her eyes finally getting some life in them. “He has to be there.”

No need to tell Natasha twice. She turned around and jogged back down the stairs. Morse clattered down behind her, though she wasn’t necessarily following the older agent. Instead, as soon as they were out the door, she turned to head around the house—no doubt to where ever there was on the property to hide the jet she’d brought with her.

It was Natasha’s opening. She pivoted around and went to get Morse in a headlock. Time to knock the Mockingbird out and send her on her way back to Coulson with news of where Barton was.

She wrapped her arm around Morse’s throat and went limp to use her weight to her advantage since height wasn’t an option.

Morse grunted, but didn’t seem surprised. “I do _not_ have time for this,” she gritted out, and then twisted her body, slinging Natasha off and around in a move she must have learned from Clint.

Natasha twisted to land on her feet, boots and gloves crunching in the snow. “Then don’t pretend to give me a challenge,” she said. “You know you can’t take me.”

“Maybe.” Bobbi said, reaching behind her back and pulling out her staves. “Maybe you have old intel, Red.” She swung the staves around, warming up her wrists. “But I really don’t have time for this. They wouldn’t be somewhere so obvious unless they were planning on leaving.”

She was right. “Then we’ll have to make it short,” Natasha said and rushed Morse.

The blonde crouched defensively, waiting until the last second to twist around so Natasha wasted her energy. In return, Natasha turned her charge into a side-swiping kick. Morse took the hit and rolled with it, then brought a baton around for a hit at the back of Natasha’s knees that would cripple her if it hit. So Natasha jumped up, and tried to come down with gravity’s aid for another kick. Morse rolled again, covering her suit in the snow with little care about hypothermia.

She twisted up on to her feet as soon as she finished rolling, too far to make contact on Natasha… And yet, there was a steel rod coming down towards her head, making her have to roll again. Damn, Morse had used the perpetual motion to disguise the fact she had brought the two staves together to form a much longer whole, giving her more reach.

Natasha gritted her teeth. Morse wasn’t as experienced as her, but because she couldn’t shoot a gun, she was able to devote more time and energy into her melee fighting. It had obviously made up for the gap in their experience levels. And she couldn’t use her guns, since that was both deadly force and would set Morse off. Her charged batons were the same issue, not to mention she was not stupid enough to try and compete with Morse with the split version of her favorite weapon.

The Widow’s Sting wasn’t functioning as intended yet, but it had enough charge to stun someone. It would have to work. Raising her hand, she clenched her fist and pulled a trigger, sending two discs flying towards Morse. Surprisingly the blonde made no move to dodge them.

They hit the thick material of the suit, clinging to it and letting the Sting send surges of electoral currents. Except… Morse casually reached up and with her partially gloved hands, removed the probes with a grimace, like they hadn’t done anything.

“Insulated suit,” Natasha said, unable to keep the fact she was impressed out of her tone. “Bullet proof too, I take it?”

“I’m melee,” Morse stated the obvious with a shrug, swinging the staff in a circle in front of her before bringing it around to the side. “Gotta be able to take the hits.”

It was sometimes so obvious that Clint trained her in the basics. He said the same thing all the time as he modified his Hawkeye suit for the twelfth or thirteenth time. “Thought you didn’t have time for this?” Natasha argued, getting up to her feet.

Morse held the staff in one hand, reaching for the hip holster she wore. “I don’t,” she said. “Understand, Red. I have to do this.”

“Why?” Natasha demanded. She needed to distract Morse, get her too emotional to focus clearly. “Why is it so important to you to save him over everyone else in the world?”

Tilting her head, Morse said, “You know why. I know you, Fury, and Hill aren’t as blind as everyone else seems to be. I’ve waited four years, and I’ll keep waiting as long as he makes me do so.” Her hand hovered there, but didn't draw out the weapon that would end this fight in seconds. “But like hell am I going to let him be someone’s puppet on a string, useful until he breaks.”

_“You’ll break them.”_

_"Only the breakable ones. You are made of marble.”_

Natasha heard it in Russian, but the effect was the same. The breath left her like someone had punched her in the gut. She thought she’d left the academy behind her, but sometimes it reared up to bite her when it hurt most. Morse was right. They couldn’t leave Barton like this, like the girls at the academy. Like Natalia had been. He’d saved her from that. Red in her ledger.

“Alright,” Natasha finally gave in. “We go in, we get Barton, the Tesseract, we get out. No funny business.”

“None,” Morse said. She moved her hand away from her gun and stowed both batons. “And if you turn on me again, I will kill you. This was your last chance, Red.”

It probably was. Morse had always shown a reluctance to kill, but Natasha could hear it in her voice that Morse’s passion for human life was officially exhausted where Natasha was concerned. Next time, whatever was in that gun would be coming her way. And considering what the tech developers were capable of, she knew it would be bad.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Don't ask me where Colt came from, I sort of made shit up as I went.


	4. Waking From a Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets a much more pleasant wake-up call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! There is some light petting ish type stuff in this chapter.

Bobbi turned the quinjet around, finding comfort in the simple task of flying. There was both a science of flying and an art to it. She had both after a stint of boredom during trainee orientation had made it a necessity to distract hers or drive the instructors nuts. It was something she enjoyed doing under normal circumstances, a way to get her into the mindset needed before a mission. Usually she was so exhausted after a mission, it gave her something to focus on until she could fall face first in a bed.

Right now, it helped her stay in the moment and thinking. If she acknowledged her emotions right now, she would become a paralyzed puddle of useless panic. She’d kept her issues under wraps due to her ability to focus like this, and that wasn’t going to change now.

She’d feel again when Clint was safe, so she could kill him herself for scaring her like this.

In the first of the weapon runner’s seats, Red was sitting, her legs crossed as she kept an eye where they were going. Bobbi was about seventy percent sure she hadn’t gotten enough of a look at the locations on the network to know where things were…but she was still going to flag all of Clint’s as compromised by Romanoff, just to be safe. That’s what it was for, after all.

While they had been over the water, her computers had thrown up a flagged report, claiming the rogue Asgardian had been brought into custody with the aid of another—Thor had returned. Stark had also joined them at Stuttgart, meaning most of the Avengers Initiative was all in one place. Wasn’t that a terrifying thought.

Flipping a few switches, Bobbi pulled the jet in for a landing. “There are multiple entrances and exits to this place,” she said, speaking for the first time since they had left the States hours ago. It was morning now, rather than the dead of night. “You can get lost pretty easily if you don’t know where you are going.”

“So, stick close?” Romanoff said.

“Nope.” Bobbi shook her head, damp waves still in the last stages of drying from the snow from their fight brushing her cheek. “Just follow the markers. SHIELD emblem at the cross roads, always on the corner brick at eye-height…well, eye height for Clint.” Which was a couple inches higher for both women. “On either side of each way, so you’ll be able to see which way to go.” Provided Clint hadn’t put false ones down since she’d last been there.

There actually was a second track, but Bobbi didn’t mention that as they reached the entrance to the catacombs in silence. She let Red go ahead, since the Russian seemed determined to be in the lead. Probably to make sure Bobbi didn’t ignore the Tesseract.

They reached the first crossroads, and upon seeing the SHIELD insignias where Bobbi said they would be, Romanoff pressed on with new confidence, her steps fast but light, almost impossible to hear on the stone floor.

Bobbi checked for a different symbol, one that was particular to her and Clint. A bow, it looked almost like it had an overly long arrow nocked into place…but it was actually a staff crossed with it. She followed that path, leading her to the surveillance center of the complex. It was kept separate, in case it was ever compromised, and you had to know exactly where you were going to find it, since the markers stopped about halfway through the path.

But she knew the way from there, and found the room full of computers. They hadn’t been turned on, suggesting that Clint was sloppy, or like she said, they weren’t planning on staying here long. She hit the power switch and pushed the chair out of the way. “Alright, Clint,” she murmured. “What have you been up to?”

The entire base had been turned into a mix of bare essentials for housing soldiers and techs, and a functioning lab. Barely functioning, making her snort a little. She rewound the footage, wanting to watch the past hour on a higher speed. She frowned, watching agents and scientists prepare a blue, glowing cube that was throwing interference on the cameras. So they’d already packed up the Tesseract and were moving it. No point in that. She crossed off her promise to Red with very little guilt or regret.

Instead, she started tracking a familiar figure as he ran back and forth, helping men prepare flying transports and organizing thing with his usual hands-on approach. He moved with brutal efficiency, not wasting any energy but not trying to be gentle. She frowned, touching the screen lightly. “What did they do to you?” she wondered. Clint was always rough around the edges, but he’d never been this harsh before…

A ruckus on one of the remaining screens caught her attention. She looked and saw that Romanoff had done her job of being a distraction too well. She’d knocked out the remaining guard who had caught her and was now exchanging blows with Clint. Bobbi killed the system and darted out to meet up with her, recognizing the cross section. Until she had a chance to examine him, she didn’t know what would happen if anything even jarred Clint’s nervous system too hard.

They had gotten their fight on to a narrow metal bridge over a waterway. Bobbi swung herself up and over the railing, just as he knocked Red down with a backhand across the face. He whipped around at the clatter.

And she covered her own mouth as she released another of her gas darts in another friend’s face.

He shook his head, coughing at the sudden inhale of drugs. These worked slower than the ones she had used on Daniels, since it was meant to be used at much closer range than she could get right now. He started to drop like a rock regardless, making her worry. When had been his last full meal? She grabbed his arm, pulling it over her shoulder to steady him as he went down.

“Bobbi,” he said hoarsely, trying to stand upright. “What…”

“Just sleep, Clint,” she said soothingly, resting her forehead against his to let him know it was really her. They had their own way of communicating without words, even though it wasn’t really necessary with the way they talked. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Home… Is that what you know…?” he managed to ask, and then he was out. Bobbi almost stumbled under almost two hundred pounds of dead weight.

“Morse, the Tesseract,” Red said, climbing up to her feet.

“Help me get him to the jet,” Bobbi ordered instead. “Or do you think you can find your way back this far off the path?” She adjusted Clint on her shoulders so he wouldn’t hurt her as badly. She didn’t want to drag his feet, but he was four inches taller than her and seven than Romanoff. There was no other option.

She could almost hear Red’s teeth grinding, but she grabbed Clint’s other side, helping Bobbi. Relieved, Bobbi led them on the fastest way out, thanking God that she reviewed her maps of the various safe houses that were more difficult once every few weeks. So far, the guard Red had knocked out hadn’t woken up yet. They needed to stay that way a little longer.

They climbed up the ramp, and with one last surge of energy, Bobbi helped shove the unconscious Clint into one of the harness chairs. She strapped him in so he’d be safe during the launch. He would still be out long enough that once they were safely in the air and she could turn on the autopilot, she would fasten him down better until she got his head straight.

And then she slammed her hand on the switch to raise the ramp before Natasha had a chance to dart back out. “Morse…” the Black Widow drawled in warning.

“It isn’t there, Red,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Romanoff said. “Barton was there.”

“But they had already moved the Tesseract,” Bobbi said.

A riot of gunfire came from their left, hitting the siding of the jet and making it rattle. Swearing, Bobbi ran for the controls, jerking the headset on. “If you want to go out there, you’re welcome to. I got what I came for.”

There was silence, then a loud smattering of Russian swear words before she heard Red throw herself into the same seat she had ridden up in. “You get us up, I’ll take out the guns,” she said.

“Deal,” Bobbi repeated the word that had struck their first bargain.

*****

“So I was a distraction while you checked the cameras?”

“Basically.”

“I hate you, Morse.” But Nat’s voice wasn’t serious. Just very pissed off and needing a way to convey it. Still, not good.

He opened his eyes, feeling like something had crawled in his mouth and died. Knock out gas, then. Something Bobbi liked using in fights rather than having to hurt or kill somebody if she could help it. Turning his head a little made it swim, but he could see Nat was in the “pod” for one of the two guns on board this style of quinjet. The pilot’s seat was empty, as was the other gunner seat. He had to close his eyes and let his head drop, almost feeling sickened by the after effects of the drug. Good thing his stomach was empty.

“Hey there, sunshine,” he heard, and felt a warm weight settle itself on either side of his legs and in his lap. Equally warm hands brushed over his forehead and neck. No real perfume scents, but just sweat, skin, and steel. No gunpowder. It had to be Bobbi. “Started to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.”

As much as this was going to kill him… He lurched forward, intending on knocking Bobbi to the ground and then moving on to Nat.

Restraints bit into him through his jacket, holding him by their places around his forearms and wrists. Trying to move his ankles, he found out he was tied from the knee down too.

Bobbi tutted, hardly ruffled from her place on his lap. “Really, Barton?” she criticized, even as she leaned forward, pulling back one set of his eyelids to look his eye over. “Did that stupid cube make you forget that the dumb blonde thing is an act? One you taught me, by the way.”

“Of course not,” he said, jerking his head free with a scowl. He didn’t mind her touching him, he never had, but this was more clinical. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what the hell they did to you,” she said factually. “What else?”

“You can’t,” he said. “The Tesseract showed me a new purpose, Bobbi. A better world.” He tried to buck her off, since she was distracting him from figuring out how to get out of here and back to his next task.

“Bullshit,” she said, not jumping at all. “Now shut up and let me fix you.” She raised herself up on her knees completely, running her fingers over his scalp like she could see inside his brain if she touched him. It also put her breasts right at his eye level. He quickly averted his eyes as uncomfortable feelings ricocheted across his skin. Maybe Nat would give him a break.

The Russian had turned her back to the pair of them, seemingly watching the clouds.

Peachy.

“You can’t fix me, Bobbi,” he said. “I’m not broken.”

She hummed, lowering herself again to look at him again. “Don’t lie to me, Clint,” she said, her lower lip quivering a little. He could see now that she actually was upset, she was just hiding her emotions, suppressing them down rather than deal with them. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours trying to track your ass down. You’d never leave SHIELD without telling me first. Something is wrong.”

He shifted, uncomfortable with her position now though he hadn’t been before. “I got shown a better path, a better way of thinking,” he insisted.

“A better way…” she repeated, and then tilted her head to look towards Nat’s back. “Does that sound like cognitive reprogramming to you or is it just me?”

“That takes too long,” Nat argued.

Bobbi hummed again and looked at Clint thoughtfully. “Maybe. Isn’t the Tesseract a living energy source, a type of alien computer that can think for itself?”

“Something like that.” Now Nat sounded curious. She twisted her chair around to look at the main cabin again. “Why?”

“The body is basically a computer,” Bobbi explained, even as she placed both her hands on either side of Clint’s head, turning it slightly so she could look at…something. He tracked her expression with his eyes, waiting to see where she was going with this exam of hers. “Most medical disorders are something being wrong with the hardware, mental ones sometimes the software. For a computer, changing our way of thinking would seem simple enough.”

Her touch turned lingering, sending uncomfortable sparks down his head and spine. “Knock it off, Morse,” he barked, jerking his head to the side.

And she stared at him like he’d grown a second head for a long, awkward moment. He realized he’d never reacted that way to her before, making his head pound.

“Simple except for what?” Nat asked quietly. “What does a computer not understand?”

Even though the question was rhetorical, Bobbi answered anyway. “The pain or pleasure paradigm,” she said, still looking at Clint strangely.

“You want to punch him in the head or should I?” There was Nat, always practical.

“Or you can _not_ ,” Clint protested.

Bobbi hummed. “Agreed. We don’t want to bruise that pretty face of his. He’d never let us live it down.”

Nat’s mouth opened in a question, but then she cut herself off and whirled back around in her chair. “Whatever you do, I don’t want to hear it,” she said warningly.

“Spoilsport,” Bobbi quipped.

Clint felt his alarm growing. “What are you going to—” The rest of his question was cut off by her lips bearing down on his.

*****

This was not how Bobbi wanted to give Clint her first kiss. She had never been too clear on the details, since she had wanted it to be something spontaneous and special. For it to mean something, and really, for her not to be the one giving it but him the one taking it. All the things first kisses should be, even if she was a little late in getting hers, since she had insisted on being picky and waiting for a man who actually got her blood running.

Not that he was doing a very good job of that right now. He was as stiff as a plank in her arms and between her legs, and not in a good way. When she shifted her weight to settle better against him, he tried to use it as a way to pull back.

But Bobbi wasn’t having any of it. She draped her arms over his shoulders, resting her weight more completely against him. _Come on, Clint,_ she mentally urged, feeling her core of inner strength failing. _I know you’re in there, so stop making me do all the work!_ Not to mention the issue of consent was prickling at her conscious.

His mouth parted against hers, giving her a bit of hope. She mouthed his lower lip and ground down with her hips in little circles, feeling her body begin to react to the fact she was kissing the man she had been chasing for four years, no matter the situation.

Clint surged against the restraints again. But this time… This time, he leaned into Bobbi, trying to take control of the kiss rather than knock her off her seat. She felt his own reaction, hardening against her thighs and grinding back what he could restrained like he was. Bobbi moaned low in her throat when he nipped at her own lower lip, before trying to pull back.

“Bobbi,” he breathed her name against her lips, trying to put more distance between them.

But she wouldn’t let him. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling him back to her. “No,” she demanded. “Don’t stop yet.” She brushed her lips against his lightly, teasing.

He moaned and kissed her again, seeking permission into her mouth with a lap of his tongue. Permission she all-too-eagerly granted. Their tongues tangled together in wet heat, even as he fought the restraints that much more. Bobbi pressed her breasts harder against his chest, aching and wishing she dared let him loose now that he was finally reacting. She wanted to feel his hands against her, properly caressing her instead of just changing her stance or their usual ways of holding each other that she knew meant nothing to him.

She pulled back this second time, resting her forehead against his and keeping her eyes closed. She was afraid of what she would see when she opened them. Would his own still be that maniac blue, or the grey she remembered that could shift shades as easily as his mood, but were always warm when they looked at her?

Clint breathed out slowly, and she could feel him clenching and unclenching his hands against the restraints. “Bobbi,” he breathed her name again. “Why…” He swallowed thickly, and she could almost feel him change what he was going to say. “Why are you in my lap again?”

She grinned, unable to help it. “Why am I ever in your lap?”

He chuckled, making her own breathing that much easier and making tears prick at the corner of her eyes in relief. “Fine. Point taken. New one. Why am I tied to the damn chair?”

She breathed out now, her own breath shuddering. Opening her eyes, she met his own half-lidded gaze and couldn’t stop the wide smile that crossed her face. Warm grey. “Because you went all squirrely and I wasn’t sure if you’d be still long enough to take your medicine,” she managed to quip despite her throat feeling tight.

Bobbi had to lean in again, stealing another kiss. This one was light and soft, but not lacking in passion on her part. He seemed shell shocked, but still kissed her back, just as lightly. Pulling back, she took the same position she had been in, rubbing her hands up and down his arms and shoulders as she took in his (slightly ripe) scent, the one unique to him that she had never been able to completely figure out. “Welcome back,” she whispered.

“Thanks for bringing me back,” he said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. “How’d you get him out? The guy I was after the Tesseract rebuilt me?”

“It’s like I said,” she said. “Computers can’t understand pleasure or pain when they don’t have bodies. I knew I just had to push hard enough at one of those buttons and it would reset your thought patterns back to what they would normally be.” And probably in a much gentler and less upsetting way than Red’s suggestion, but she wasn’t going to say that.

“Too damn smart, Morse,” he said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It echoed a conversation they’d had only three weeks into her training. “You keep talking like that, you’ll lose the element of surprise.”

“So I should pretend to be dumb like you?” she asked rhetorically. But she did lean back to frown at him. “Though I now wonder how much of that is pretending.”

“Hey!” he protested, rearing his head back. “I got ambushed by a _god_ , cut a guy some slack!”

“If I did that, your ego would get completely out of hand,” she pointed out with a put-upon sigh. Inside, she was feeling a bit gleeful. He wasn’t upset that she had kissed him. Hell, he’d even encouraged her there for a bit. Maybe there was hope for them after all, and she wasn’t waiting in vain—

“I hate to ruin the moment,” Red called out from the front of the jet. “But the autopilot is having a tantrum, and I can’t figure out what Morse did to it when she knocked off the auto-sensor it has with the helicarrier’s computers.”

Damn Russian. “Come unlatch the boy, then,” she said as she climbed off Clint’s lap, walking towards the front. Romanoff needed little encouragement to walk past her and go to the back of the plane.

“She knocked the jet off the sensors?” she heard Clint ask.

“Tip of the iceberg, Barton,” Red said with a dry chuckle. “You don’t want to know.”

Bobbi had to tune them out to see what the computer was trying to tell her. Tantrum was putting it mildly. Alarms, alerts, it was all a confusing mess that she was surprised she hadn’t heard when… Never mind, she completely understood why she hadn’t heard it. She made a mental note not to kiss Clint on missions. They’d both end up dead since they had to trust in her ears. “Is the damn carrier under attack?” she muttered, trying to make sense of everything she was seeing.

“Shit,” Barton breathed, penetrating her concentration. “We have to go there. _Now.”_

She twisted around to look at him. He’d gone pale under his tan, making the dark circles under his eyes that much starker. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“My next mission under Loki,” he said. “Attack the carrier and free him, ground SHIELD if at all possible. He was going to release the Hulk, make it that much easier.”

Romanoff looked at Bobbi, and the two shared a nod. The truce was going to have to continue. “I’ll bring us in high, take them by surprise,” Bobbi said briskly, twisting the chair around. “But I don’t want to stay in the air too long, it makes it impossible for Fury to shoot down the enemy forces.”

“We’ll manage the guns,” Red said, rapidly working to finish untying Clint. “Soon as we hit the ground, what’s the plan?”

Both Bobbi and Clint turned to stare at Romanoff. She looked between them, nonplussed. “She’s been the only one using her brains and not just reacting the last thirty-six hours,” Romanoff said. “I want at least a catnap before I take the lead on anything. And you,” she pointed at Clint by jerking her chin. “Your head still isn’t completely on straight. We let Mockingbird lead.”

Bobbi blinked, but took the permission for what it was. Instantly, though, Red raised a few bars in her opinion. “Red, take Clint to the command center,” she said. “Fury needs to know he’s on our side and not Loki’s. He will know where you are needed most. Take out anyone on your way, but try to refrain from killing unless Clint knows for sure that they weren’t coerced like he was.”

“There’s the signature Mockingbird, do no harm spin on the mission,” Red quipped, but nodded her head.

Bobbi stuck her tongue out at her, and then turned her eyes back to the skies. They had very little time, and she knew where she was going as soon as they landed. They had to keep Loki from escaping.


	5. What Once Was Lost...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to the helicarrier! And Fury finds out.

“Thank God Bobbi was flying.”

“Shut up, Nat,” Clint bit out as he fired an arrow.

“Seriously, can you give flying advice that won’t end up crashing us?” She asked as she punched a goon in the face. “Or not give advice at all,” she said. “Since you’ve managed to train someone who can fly better than you.”

“Nat!” he gritted out as they cleared the hallway. “Is now really the time for this?”

“Well, I could always ask you how you liked your wake-up call.” She fired a gun, shooting an attacker in the thigh and knocking him out of commission. He’d noticed she’d curiously been a bit more trigger happy than normal.

Clint grimaced as they rapidly approached the command. “How about we keep that on the down-low from Fury?” he said. He was in enough trouble as it was without getting shot for kissing the director’s hand-picked protégé.

“Awww, you’re embarrassed,” she said, and had no problem walking straight into the bridge. For his part, he hesitated, not sure of his welcome yet.

“And where the hell have you been, Romanoff?” Fury barked, heard clearly over the chaos inside. The helicarrier had lost power only seconds ago, sending it into a rapid descent that had Clint’s empty stomach rolling.

“Busy. Barton, get in here,” she called, and Clint winced, accepting that he wasn’t going to be allowed to run from this.

His first few steps were cautionary, and he could barely look at Fury’s face. Much less the destruction of the bridge, techs and communication officers frantically trying to restore things. “Sir,” he said softly. “I… I am so—”

“Save it, Agent Barton,” Fury said, but there was kindness under the gruff. “And go help the techs figure out what one of your arrows did to our power.”

“My arrows?” he said in confusion, and then the fog of memories that was his time under Loki’s control reasserted themselves. “Damn,” he said, looking at Nat. “You two didn’t grab all my things when you got me out.” And he remembered recruiting Colt, a general weapons specialist, including a decent hand with a bow if not as skilled as Clint.

“Sorry, we were a bit busy,” she said.

“We?” Fury said, sounding dangerously calm.

“Yeah, her and Bobbi,” Clint said like it was the most natural thing ever. Which it wasn’t, and it was weird. “Strange team to send, Director, but it worked.” He ran his hand over his head, ruffling his short hair. “I’ll…explain more later.” He took three steps towards the control box he remembered had been the plan to attack.

“Morse, you had better pick up the damn radio,” he heard Fury growl, this time sounding truly angry. That set of warning bells in Clint’s mind.

There was a trill over Fury’s, Natasha’s, and Clint’s communicators as Bobbi’s connected itself back with the network at last. “Hey, boss,” they all heard her answer. She was breathless, and sounded pained. “Whatever it is, it’s not my fault.”

“I doubt that,” Fury said. “Where are you?”

There was a clang of metal against metal. “She’s a bit busy at the moment,” a smooth, cultured voice that was just as out of breath as Morse’s answered instead, heard easily over her com.

Clint felt all the muscles in his back bunch up as his rage bore down on him. Loki. Morse was fighting Loki.

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” the Asgardian added, and then there was a click, muting her com.

Clint pivoted, moving to tear apart this whole carrier to try and protect his girl. Nat, though, grabbed him by the shoulder. “Barton!” she said urgently. “Listen! Stay here, get power up,” she said firmly. “I’ll protect Morse.”

He didn’t want to listen. Bobbi was in danger, he remembered Loki talking to him about her, he knew her face and what she meant to Clint and he had no idea that Clint was no longer under his control. Hawkeye wanted to put an arrow through Loki’s eye, especially if it meant saving Bobbi. But would saving Bobbi be worth if it they all sank? Logic finally reared its head to point out. He growled and jerked his head in a rough gesture. “Go,” he ordered and darted back down the stairs, tearing open one of the electrical panels to get a better look at the wiring.

Clint didn’t hear Natasha leave, but he hadn’t expected to.

*****

_A few moments prior…_

Bobbi ran down the corridors of the helicarrier for the detention center, where they had built a cell that could hold Asgardians or the Hulk. It had been a necessity. The drop out bottom less so, but then, her opinion hadn’t exactly been asked. If they had Loki in custody, that’s where he would be.

She skidded around the corner, taking in details rapidly. Thor in the containment cell. Loki at the control panel. Coulson monologuing like an idiot at him. Loki sneaking up behind him.

Bobbi did a double take, and then leapt forward, no real plan in place except saving Phil. She drew one of her half-staff batons, sweeping it to knock the spiked ends of the staff to the side as she shoved at Coulson to get him out of the way.

It only halfway worked. Coulson grunted, taking a stab to the side.

Bobbi ducked under the staff and went into high kick right to Loki’s core. He gasped, forced back. She used the chance to get Phil down and to the side, out of the way. His Phase 2 weapon had fallen, and Bobbi didn’t bother picking it up. It looked too much like a gun. “Why don’t you take on someone who uses the same kind of weapon you do?” she said instead, drawing the second baton and connecting them. With a twist, they stretched out to their full length of six feet.

Loki leaned back, looking shocked. That turned into a clever gleam in his eyes, and he twirled the staff. “Yes, let’s,” he agreed and tried to do an upwards swing at her. Bobbi blocked and used the momentum of shoving his staff to twist her body around, out of striking distance, even as she brought the end of her staff up to give him a jab at the stomach.

But he was ready for her. He went with an upward-force block. She changed the type of hit, trying to bring the back end of the staff up to give him a chin tap instead. He did a vertical sweeping block, and with her arms now bent awkwardly, she had to back up and twist the staff around in a reset. Loki spun his own around, settling defensively for now.

That wasn’t going to last. She was now between him and the control panel, since his little illusion had faded. She heard something crash against the holding cell, she assumed Thor’s attempts at trying to break out, but had to tune it out for now. If he got out, super. Right now, he wasn’t a factor.

The communicator at her suit’s collar beeped, warning her that it was trying to connect to the network again unless she stopped it. She saw no reason not to, so let it. Especially since Loki chose to rush her right that minute. She brought her staff up to block the overhead strike with a grunt, his strength taking her by surprise, making her take a knee.

Well, if that was the way of it… She let him push her to the ground, giving him two seconds of triumph…and a few minutes of pain when she brought her foot up to kick him right in the groin. He made a high-pitched squawk, and she quickly rolled out of the way.

And vaguely registered that Fury had just barked something at her over the com. She reached up and flipped the switch to answer it. “Hey, boss,” she said, trying to catch her breath even as she really started feeling the various bruises stacking up from two fights in as many days. “Whatever it is, it’s not my fault.”

“I doubt that,” Fury said. Her com crackled little with static, a result of the ongoing decline of the carrier. “Where are you?”

Loki recovered faster than she expected. He came at her again, and this time used his staff for a distraction. She blocked his hit, but he used her energy against her, forcibly spinning her around. He held both her staff and his at her throat, pinning her against his body.

And giving him access to her com. “She’s a bit busy at the moment,” he said. “You’ll have to wait your turn.” And then he reached up and turned off the com. “I don’t share well, Bobbi.”

She slammed the heel of her foot into his instep, making him swear but let her go. She quickly stepped back into a defensive crouch. Okay. He had her full attention now, for real. “How do you know my name?”

“Your name?” he laughed, sending chills down her spine. He started pacing, trying to draw her into a circling pattern. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it and stayed centered, watching him. It didn’t deter him, since he kept on talking. “I know your face, Bobbi. I know your heart. Barton was quite sure that he wouldn’t be able to bring you to our side, and yet… I think you would have, if he had just asked.”

She swallowed. How was it that she could pine after the man for four years and he had no idea, but now four people knew, one that she hadn’t even met before now? It really wasn’t fair. “SHIELD is my home,” she tried to lie.

He tsked at her. “No, it isn’t. Your home is with your love, Bobbi,” he said, and then he was behind her, hand at her throat. Damn it, she had to remember that these Asgardians weren’t human. Loki threw her into the wall, making her gasp in pain. He held her by the throat there, sneering. “Your love, who planned this assault. Who has carried out every order I had with more intelligence and determination than any other mortal could have.” He let go of her, and she slid to the ground, coughing as she tried to draw air through her bruised throat. “How does that make you feel? Ashamed? Betrayed?” He chuckled obviously enjoying this.

And was obviously shocked when Bobbi started chuckling too. “No,” she said. “None of that.” She looked at him from under the curtain of strands of her hair that were falling out of her usual ponytail. “I’m _proud_ ,” she said, a smile on her face that was too sharp, making Loki take a step back. “Clint is capable of so much more than people give him credit for. It’s nice to see him let it out, no matter whose side it is on.” The smile slid off of her face as she glared at him, letting all of her hatred and rage out at last. “And you _dared_ take him from me,” she said in an almost snarl, lunging forward with a sweep of her staff.

Loki tried to twist away from her, watching her weapon. He missed the fact that she was only swinging it one handed. She grabbed the front of his robes in a fist. “You are trying to drive my home into the ground,” she whispered when he locked eyes with her, his fury as palatable as hers. “You tried to take Clint away from me. And now? I hope you blow up into pieces.” She let go and stepped back.

Without the pressure of her hand, the disk she’d taken from the bracelet she wore on her right wrist let out a soft beep at a steady pace, a more audible version of removing the pin from a grenade. Loki’s eyes widened. She gave him her usual, bright and bubbly smile…and lunged forward to push him half over the railing, pinning him there with her staff. She balanced expertly on one foot, pointing her toe to reach out and hit the switch opening the gate beneath the cell.

Loki locked eyes with her, and that manic grin of his was back. “I know what you have, now,” he said, leaning forward. _“Cunning.”_

She leaned forward as well, bracing both feet on the ground again. “Damn straight,” she breathed, and then swiped at his feet with a well-placed kick, knocking his legs out from under him. With the leverage she had on him, he went right over the edge and into the clouds.

She had no doubt there was a craft to catch him. Leaning back, she didn’t bother closing the door yet, instead rushing to Coulson’s side. Kneeling there, she examined the gaping wound as he gasped for breath from the pain. “Oh, Phil…” she murmured, then turned her com back on to shout authoritatively, “I need a medic at the detention cell, _now!”_

“Don’t,” he said, fighting to be heard. Whether over the com or just be her, she wasn’t sure. She noticed that no one else was responding back to her demands, or asking what was going on. “It’s okay. It had to happen.”

“Shut up, Coulson,” she said, no real bite to her tone but plenty of tears. “You need to save your strength.”

“It had to happen,” he repeated. “They need something to… To…”

“Shh…” she shushed him, leaning forward and stroking his forehead, trying to sooth him. “I know. They will too. I promise.” And then she choked on a sob as the medics arrived, barely audible under the roar of denial and grief of the God of Thunder still in containment.

*****

In the bridge, Steve and Clint sat in shock at what they’d heard before Bobbi had cut the com. Fury leaned on the railing, obviously reeling as well. Clint leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, just trying to keep things together. Steve was staring at the table without seeing it.

The doors opened, and a blonde whirlwind came running in, heading straight for Clint. He straightened up, wrapping his arms around Bobbi as she threw herself into his lap in an awkward heap. Murmuring soothingly, he adjusted her so her legs were all on one side of him, her head easily hidden under his chin as she clung to the front of his shirt. It always hurt, when they lost one of their own. To his knowledge, this was her first among agents she personally knew.

Resting one hand on the back of her head and the other on her back, he held on to her for his own sanity too.

Natasha followed at a more sedate pace, hiding her sadness behind an icy mask. “She said Loki had gotten Thor to take his place in the containment cell. She opened the gate underneath to get Loki off the carrier after attaching a bomb to him. While she was getting Phil to the medics, the cell gave into some damage that had affected the devices holding it. It was dropped before she could close the gate.”

“Banner’s gone too,” Fury softly told her. “Down with the jet I sent in after him when he lost control.”

“And Stark?” Natasha asked.

He jerked his head in the direction of another part of the carrier. “Still getting out of the suit. From there… I don’t know.”

Bobbi made a soft sound, and Clint squeezed her a little tighter. He saw Steve giving him a look, but ignored him. Nudging Bobbi’s head, Clint got her attention and she reluctantly raised it so they were cheek to cheek, letting them hear each other’s breathing. They both needed it, to know they were alive.

“Are they…” Steve’s voice trailed off.

“Normally like this,” Natasha said, sounding much closer and just as cold. “There’s nothing behind it.” Thankfully, she understood that there was no urges on his part towards Bobbi, and could explain for him that they were just...like this. Close, both emotionally as friends and mentally for some reason. It had been easy to for them to drop physical space as just something ridiculous between them and it might as well be ignored. Both of them were tactile people once permission was given, and it let them sometimes share what they were feeling when even they couldn’t find the right words.

Even if that kiss was still something else and thinking about it was _not_ a good idea right now. He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. Raising his head, he rested his chin on Bobbi’s head to look at Steve. “Loki isn’t done,” he said. “There was a bigger plan in the works.”

“Do you know what it was?” Steve asked, meeting his gaze. The grief there was tempered by anger.

Clint had to close his eyes to fight his own frustration. “I didn’t need to know,” he said from between gritted teeth. “It wasn’t part of my new purpose yet.”

Bobbi mumbled crankily against the skin of his throat. He thought he heard something about stupid Asgardians and hoping her grenade had at least singed him. Rolling his eyes upward, he fought the urge to laugh hysterically. The mood wasn’t right… Though that was so typical Bobbi. He was glad she was handling this well, or at least as well as could be expected. She then offered up unexpectedly. “Talk to Stark. If anyone could understand Loki and his plans, I think he could.”

Steve shared a confused look with Natasha and Clint, but all Clint could do was shrug. Bobbi knew these things better than he did, was better at reading people. With a nod, Steve stood up and walked out of the room in the vague direction of the holding cell.

Leaving just the three members of SHIELD.

“Now…” Fury said, obviously ready for a distraction. “Does someone want to tell him how the hell Morse found out that Barton had been compromised to begin with?”

Clint jumped, and then looked between his two girls. “You didn’t send them?” he said, feeling faint.

“Morse is on a no-call list,” Nat said. Well, that was news to Clint! “Except…” She took a deep breath. “Except Coulson took exception to this being the one time you were enforcing it, Director. He called her and told her.”

Fury whirled around and glared at Natasha. “And what, exactly, happened next?”

Nat shrugged. “She went rogue, what else?”

“What?” Clint had to interrupt, his voice strangled. He looked down at the blonde girl in his lap. She refused to look up at him, fiddling with the front of his jacket instead. “Bobbi, did you really?”

“They could find the Tesseract without my help,” she pointed out weakly. “So I thought I should focus on finding you instead?”

“It was fun,” Nat said sarcastically, looking both amused and highly annoyed at the same time. “She knocked out her partner and took off. After disabling every sensor and trace on everything she came near to keep any of us from stopping her, of course.” The redhead tilted her head. “And then holding me at gunpoint with something that doesn’t have actual bullets in it. What _is_ in that revolver anyway, Morse?”

“Not telling,” Bobbi said, cuddling tighter against Clint.

“Hold it,” Fury barked, looking between Bobbi and Nat. “You mean to tell me I had _two_ rogue agents? _Three_ , since I don’t remember asking you to bring either of them back, Romanoff.”

“No, Coulson did,” Nat said quietly. “He wanted her back before you found out before she went off on her own. She just…”

“Got all stubborn on you,” Fury sighed, turning to look at the two blondes. His anger had left him as fast as it had brewed at the mention of the man they had lost. But his look was firm. This wasn’t going to happen again. Clint shifted uneasily, but Bobbi didn’t move. “Which is why she’s on that list.”

Right. It was up to Barton to enforce that the younger girl had been careless. So, Clint grabbed Bobbi by the chin, raising her head to make her look at him. She was sad and scared, if you knew what to look for to tell. “You’re an idiot, Morse,” he said softly. “I’m not worth it.”

“Shut up or I’ll punch you,” she said with a scowl. “You are, and I never want to hear otherwise. Got it?”

He huffed, and rested his forehead against hers. “Never again, Bobbi,” he warned. “I never want to hear about you going against orders ever again.”

She whined, but agreed, “Fine. You won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, and rubbed his nose against her. “As flattering as it is that you would do that for me.”

Bobbi reared back. “I am _not_ going to feed that ego of yours!” she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

“But, but I’m under-appreciated!” he protested.

There were a few coughs from Nat, and a low chuckle from Fury. Some of the sadness and tension that was hanging over them like a dark cloud broke. Their anger was still there, and their grief. But it was no longer something that was strangling them, instead giving them a stronger sense of focus.

The coms that were on crackled to life. “It’s Rogers,” Steve’s voice came over. “We know where Loki is going next. Suit up.”

All three agents instantly looked to their director. Fury looked at them and raised a brow. “What are you waiting for? Permission?” he said rhetorically, and then made a little sweeping gesture with one hand. “Shoo. We’ll do what we can from here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bobbi chirped, the first to get her wits back. She scrambled up to her feet, pulling Clint to his behind her whether he wanted to or not. She was a forceful thing when she put her mind to it, which he knew. “Back in a jiffy. I’ll bring you Loki’s helmet as a trophy.”

“Don’t bother,” Fury said, pitching his voice to be heard as she dragged Clint out of the room at a trot, Nat following them lest she be left behind. “It’s not my taste.”

She laughed, making a smile cross Clint’s face. He was glad to be back at SHIELD where he belonged.


	6. ...Will Now Be Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bobbi bicker. There's an alien invasion. Typical day for SHIELD, right?

Bobbi flipped a few switches in the jet, readying for take-off as they waited for clearance to leave. Behind her, she heard Barton before she felt him. He gave her shoulders a rub and then a squeeze to let her know he was there, and then he leaned over her. “Everything ready?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she questioned, leaning her head back to look at him.

“I meant you more than the jet, Bobbi,” he said with a sigh. “You’ve never lost anyone, not since joining here.”

She winced, hating the reminder of the last few hours…and how little Clint actually knew about her. “I’m fine,” she said, softly on a sigh of her own. She patted his hand, giving it a squeeze.

He took the invitation for what it was, and he leaned down to give her a hug. Which lasted all of about three seconds until a sharp pain made her yelp. “Ow!”

“Ow?” he repeated, going from soft and gentle to guard dog in less time than it took a heart to beat. “What ow?”

“It’s nothing,” she quickly said. “I think I just bruised a rib or something during a scuffle Red and I had before we came to get you.” No, she knew it had gotten bruised, along with potentially a buddy or two. Loki’s throw against the wall hadn’t helped. But she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone, especially if Red was near enough to overhear.

Not that it seemed to matter. Clint forcibly whirled the chair around. She barely saw his scowling face before he had her unbuckled, his arm under her knees and another around her shoulder. “Clint, what—” she started to ask, only to cut herself off with a shriek.

Clint swooped her up in his arms in a bridal carry like she was as light as a feather. Ignoring the stunned and surprised looks of Rogers and Romanoff, he carried her through the cabin of the jet. Bobbi kicked out with her feet, squirming and trying to get out of his hold without hurting him or herself. “Clinton Barton!” she shrieked in protest. “Put. Me. _Down!”_

He ignored her completely until they were off the jet. Several of the workers around stared as he carefully sat her down on a nearby bench, resting his hands on either side of her hips so his face was right in hers. “Stay,” he ordered, brooking no argument.

Too bad, she was going to give him one. “I am _not_ a dog,” she spat, crossing both her arms and her legs, one foot shaking up and down impatiently.

“I know you’re not,” he almost growled at her. “If you were, you’d actually do what I said and not risk hurting yourself further.”

“Pot, kettle,” she said snippily.

“I don’t have a bruised rib,” he argued.

“You have a hearing aid in your right ear,” she pointed out hotly…and then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, unable to believe she’d just said that out loud.

He raised a brow at her, his expression still dead serious and thankfully not pissed off like she had been afraid of. “I’m almost deaf in my right ear,” he agreed. “Which is why I’ve got the aid, so I can have almost normal levels of hearing out of it. Last I checked, they don’t make those for ribcages.” Before she could protest further, he cupped her face in his hands. “I want you safe, Bobbi. Please.”

She took a deep breath. It wasn’t _fair_ that he could do this to her. “Only if you do the same,” she countered.

His lips twitched as he tried not to smile. “Alright then, I’ll be extra careful so maybe for once you’ll do what you’re told,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her forehead.

Bobbi was harshly disappointed when it felt the same as ever. Like they were just good friends who hadn’t shared an amazing kiss. She sighed as he walked back to the jet, and the ramp closed up behind him. She wrapped her arm around her waist, watching them fly off without her. She really, really hated being left behind.

*****

Clint tried to keep an eye on the insurgent aliens, but it was becoming difficult. Their small force was getting overwhelmed, and they were figuring out where he was. Last he’d heard from Stark, he was about to pull a Jonah. Not a good sign. He fired an arrow, and heard a crunch behind him. He whirled around, firing a second into the chest of a Chitauri drone coming up behind him, and reached for a third.

Only to find his quiver empty.

Damn it. There was the scream of a jet overhead, different from the sounds he had been hearing, but there was no time to ponder it. His knives wouldn’t do much against that armor—

Another Chitauri came up the side of the building, lunging for him.

“Hey!” a female voice suddenly barked from overhead. Clint took a step back in shock as Bobbi dropped down out of nowhere, her foot and one end of her staff driving into the soldier like a pile driver. “Excuse you!” she spat at it like it could still hear her. “Attacking from behind is _rude.”_

“Morse!” he barked, uncaring that the other Avengers could overhear them right now. “I told you to _stay!”_

Bobbi scowled at him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Not a _dog,_ Clint!” she reminded him and whirled him around.

He swore at the cloud of extraterrestrial soldiers he could see heading their way.

“Could have fooled me,” Nat’s droll voice came over the speaker.

“Shut up, Nat!”

“Shut up, Red!”

Clint and Bobbi exchanged looks after they spoke at the same time. “Jinx,” she said with a cheeky wink.

“Is now really the time for this?” he asked, turning his eyes back on the force heading their way.

“Oh, quit whining.” Bobbi pulled a revolver off her hip, aiming it in the direction of the aliens coming their way. She waited until they were clustered together, probably so even with her bad aim she could hit one, and fired.

What came out was _not_ a bullet. Bullets didn’t glow white-hot and scream like a missile as they flew through the air until it reached roughly the center of the grouping. Bullets didn’t explode like a supernova, taking out the entire force and sending heat and dust splaying out like a bomb.

Bullets didn’t eliminate over twenty soldiers at once.

“You aimed that at Nat?” Clint said in disbelief.

“I was annoyed,” she said with a careless shrug, holstering the revolver and moving so she was behind him. “It only can hold one shot at a time anyway without going all kablooey on me. Keep an eye out now, like a good boy so your friends don’t get eaten while I refill your quiver.”

“Where the hell do you have room to keep arrows on you?” he said, looking over his shoulder at her in disbelief.

She raised a brow, split her staff apart, and unscrewed one of the batons. When she pulled on the end, she revealed a frame with ten shafts, fully fletched and not looking more than a little ruffled from her carrying them. “Been carrying these since I found out my SO was an archer with limited ammunition,” she said dryly. “Any more protests?”

He shook his head and quickly directed his attention back to the fight. He couldn’t help himself, though. “Sorry, Nat. I have a new favorite.”

The Russian just scoffed. “Fair warning, he snores.”

“I do not!” he argued, his fingers itching as he waited for Bobbi to tell him he was clear. She’d done a good job in buying them some time with that maneuver of hers. He’d have to find out what exactly was in that not-a-bullet and see if he could apply it to an arrowhead…

Nat snorted over the com. Bobbi did so too, and added, “I’ve been on enough missions with you two as glorified babysitter, making sure you did what you were told. I side with Red.”

“Hey!” he protested, turning his head to look at her again. He wasn’t sure which offended him more. Her calling those missions babysitting rather than what they were, which was the insulting truth of Fury spying on Clint and Nat, or her agreeing with Natasha over him.

She stuck her tongue out at him, opened up her other baton, and started the last half of loading his quiver. “Not to mention those six months of exasperation they call training,” she added. Then tilted her head as if thinking. “If you roll him on his side, it helps,” she offered advice.

“Good to know,” Nat said.

Clint scowled and turned back around, refusing to look at Bobbi. “I’m not talking to either of you anymore,” he said in annoyance.

“Aww, poor sport,” Bobbi teased, and then her hands were on his shoulders, her lips briefly pressing against his cheek in a silent apology. “Quiver’s half-full. I suggest we get down from here, though. Find us a new nest.”

“Us,” he said. “There is no us. You’re hurt, Morse, and I don’t know how the hell you talked Daniels into flying you here—”

“Um, wasn’t Daniels,” she said, quickly averting her eyes. “And the pilot had better have gotten that jet out of this mess or I’ll kill him.”

There was a trill over the communicators, a signal they both recognized as a clear from danger.

“Right, good boy,” she said, tugging at Clint by the hand and jogging as she headed for the easiest way down. “Anyway, I said I’d stay out of it as long as you stayed out of danger too. Stark blowing up half of some sort of tank beast with no care for the shrapnel doesn’t count as being out of danger, sport.”

How had she seen that? Wait, Fury had been getting the helicarrier operational again, which meant cameras on the biggest battlefield on Earth right now. He opened his mouth, then had to shut it. “You and your damn loopholes,” he grumbled, and took the lead.

“You like my loopholes,” she couldn’t help but tease, even as she used her batons to protect his back on their way to a new rooftop. “Or would you rather I have let Nat undo your cognitive reprogramming?”

“I suggested hitting him on the head,” Nat spoke up over the coms to remind them.

“Yes, that’s what we needed, to give the poor boy a concussion,” Bobbi snarked with a roll of her eyes. Nat just chuckled.

And Clint had had enough. He fired an arrow at a pack of strays, one that shot out several smaller darts on contact to take out more of the group. “Since when have you two been on speaking terms with each other?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the distance and relaxing now about his personal safety. Morse would have his back.

Sure enough, he heard the now-hollow whack of her staves taking out the Chitauri soldiers still trying to swarm them. “Oh didn’t you hear?” she asked lightly. “Red and I are beaches now.”

There was a choked laugh over the com, recognizable as Stark. Clint mouthed the slang, not familiar with it. And training Bobbi had led to him getting a whole new vocabulary, slang and otherwise. Shaking his head, he tried to turn his attention back to the chaos all around them.

“I can close it,” Nat’s tired voice came over the com next. “Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down.”

“Do it,” Steve’s order came.

But—“No, wait.” Tony’s voice was tense, not quite panicked.

“Stark, these things are still coming,” Steve said in disbelief.

“I got a nuke coming in. It’s going to blow up in less than a minute.” Tony was matter-of-fact, like he was talking about the weather rather than a nuclear missile heading straight for the island of Manhattan.

Behind him, Clint heard Bobbi muttering with each swing of her staves about stupid bureaucrats sitting in chairs and watching, rather than actually being a part of the battle and understanding what was happening on the ground. He put the pieces together too and swore. Trust the Council to take such a dramatic action.

“And I know just where to put it,” they heard Tony comment, off-handedly.

“Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip.” Steve’s voice was tired…resigned. Tony didn’t give them an answer they could hear. Both Bobbi and Clint had to deal with another wave of attackers, protecting their own skins.

They both were able to look up as Tony took the missile into the portal. The soldiers around them soon fell, losing power somehow. Clint managed a tired smile at Bobbi. “He did it,” he said.

But her eyes were still up there. It looked like she was hardly breathing, and her hands twitched on her staves. “Come on, Stark,” she muttered.

Frowning, he walked over to put his hands on her shoulders in comfort. The muscles there were bunched up, tense and unyielding. He winced, realizing what was happening. Bobbi wasn’t emotionally stable enough to lose even a temporary team member. Not after Coulson.

They watched, and yet… There was no sign of him. Steve gave the order to close the portal, and Bobbi gave a hard, full-body shudder when it was made obvious that Nat did as ordered.

But then, Clint saw the figure now falling through the sky. “That lucky bastard…” he said, and then smiled down at Bobbi. She was frozen in disbelief. “Bobbi,” he said, and she looked at him. “He made it back.”

At last, she cracked a smile and gave a relieved laugh. Careful of her ribs, he picked her up and swung her around, making her shriek and him laugh too. Setting her down, he jerked his head in the direction of Stark’s ruined tower. “Come on,” he said. “We have one last thing to settle.”

She smirked, and let him lead the way through the rubble.

*****

“So, if someone wants to help me out of this suit and Banner back to being…not-green, we can go get that shawarma,” Stark said while Thor finished manacling his younger brother, this time with something that the Asgardian for sure couldn’t get out of.

“Still stuck on that, Stark?” Rogers said in amusement. Bobbi tilted her head back to look at Clint, but he just shrugged at her, keeping one eye on Loki still. He didn’t know what was going on either, apparently. She saw the Hulk list to one side, collapsing in on himself with each staggered step he took, relying on the wall. He was turning back into the quiet scientist he had been.

Everyone else tensed up at the sound of a jet, but Bobbi just sighed in relief. Good, he’d stayed out of trouble. She’d had her doubts… “That’s my ride. I grabbed Banner a spare set of clothes before I left the carrier,” she said. “Not to mention I can’t do the shawarma thing.”

“Why not, you vegan?” Stark asked curiously.

“No,” Bobbi pouted. “But the longer I’m out here, well…” She trailed off.

Clint picked it up for her. “The more likely one of your covers will be blown,” he said with a sigh of his own. “Since you _had_ to have a talent for undercover work.”

“Well, not all of us can be dead-shots, _Hawkeye,”_ she teased.

“That would require you to be able to hit a target, _Mockingbird,”_ he returned the favor.

“That’s it,” she grumbled like she was actually angry, and pulled Clint’s head down into a headlock. “Take it back.”

He was laughing, struggling against her hold out of play rather than anger. “Can’t. It’s the truth.”

“Say it!” she ordered, almost laughing herself…until she had to hiss in pain, dropping her hold. Stupid ribs.

Clint instantly straightened up and frowned at her, tugging at her shoulders in the direction of the jet. “I told you not to come,” he said like he was still her SO.

“What’s wrong?” Rogers asked, moving to hover over them a little.

“Bruised ribs fighting Loki on the carrier,” Clint explained for her, and Bobbi didn’t correct him to mention that it had actually been her fighting with Red when Bobbi went rogue agent. The less the rest of this motley crew knew about her behavior, the better, in her opinion. Steve seemed satisfied anyway.

Standing up from his position after snapping a mouth guard over Loki’s head, Thor cleared his throat pointedly, making Bobbi wince. Right, she had some talking to do before Thor did it for her. She glanced at the jet, wishing she could just jump on it and avoid this whole conversation. But it wasn’t that simple. Sighing, she shrugged out from under Clint’s arm and skipped in front of the whole group, standing between them and the jet.

She locked eyes with Clint. “Um, you might have to hold some of these guys back,” she said softly.

He raised both brows at her. “Why? What did you do now?”

Rather than answer, Bobbi looked over her shoulder. “You coming out or what?”

There was a dry chuckle, and then Coulson slowly stepped down the ramp, using a crutch to support his weak side. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was sort of looking forward to you trying to explain why I wasn’t dead.”

Roger’s face grew tight with rage, and he made a lunge for Bobbi.


	7. Self-Delusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi's lies get untold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dream sex at the end. I'm going to go hide under the covers now.

_“Don’t,” he said, fighting to be heard. Whether over the com or just be her, she wasn’t sure. She noticed that no one else was responding back to her demands, or asking what was going on. “It’s okay. It had to happen.”_

_“Shut up, Coulson,” she said, no real bite to her tone but plenty of tears. “You need to save your strength.”_

_“It had to happen,” he repeated. “They need something to… To…”_

_“Shh…” she shushed him, leaning forward and stroking his forehead, trying to sooth him. “I know. They will too. I promise.” And then she choked on a sob as the medics arrived, barely audible under the roar of denial and grief of the God of Thunder still in containment._

Bobbi flipped off her com switch, the tears stopping as easily as they started. Phil stared at her from where she’d placed her hand over his mouth, which she quickly removed after she turned off his too. “You have a devious, screwed up mind, Morse,” he told her.

She winked. “The God of Mischief noticed that too.” She looked up at the medics. “Take him out of here under covers, put him in a blacked-out infirmary room. No one can know he’s still alive, got it?”

“Why?” one of the medics with the white cross on his shoulder asked. He was young, barely Bobbi’s age, and obviously still new to the spy game.

Bobbi stood up and rolled one of her shoulders, reaching up to rub her throat with a wince. That was going to be an ugly bruise. “Because they need something to bring them together,” she said with a sigh. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She walked over to the control panel, where Thor was watching her in confusion.

“You can tell them what you saw,” she said. “But they won’t believe you, not before I’m ready to reveal it anyway. Let them use it to bring you all together. Please.”

“He’s right,” the Asgardian said, his eyes narrowed and his voice a near-growl. “You are cunning. In disturbing ways. If you tell them soon… I will keep your secret.” He managed a tight grin. “Both of them.”

Damn, he had heard all of that conversation between her and Loki. She’d forgotten that. Bobbi forced herself to shrug nonchalantly, like it was no concern to her. “You can try to tell him,” she said with a slight grin of her own. “I’ve hinted, Red’s hinted, Fury has hinted… Clint refuses to notice.” She started hitting the appropriate buttons on the control panel.

Thor watched her with more interest, relaxing a little. Ready to be out so he could use his presence to be intimidating.

She hesitated with her hand over the button. “I really am sorry about this part, though,” she said. And hit the button releasing the cell from its holding stasis, the gate rapidly shutting behind it.

Taking a steadying breath, she reached into one of the pockets of her suit, pulling out a little capsule that, when she threw it against the wall, made the blood smear from Phil’s wound into the grizzly marker of a man’s last breath. And then she collapsed to her knees, wrapping her arms around her waist, and let her fears from Clint’s disappearance drive her tears until Red found her, looking for all the world like she was lost in a world of grief.

*****

Clint looked over his shoulder to stare at her. _“You_ sent Thor in the cell down to the ground?” he said in disbelief. He’d had to step between her and Steve just to keep the super soldier from trying to kill her or injure her further.

Mind, Clint wasn’t particularly thrilled with her either, but he wanted to at least give her a chance to explain herself.

Bobbi just shrugged, scuffing her toe against the ground. “I needed as few of witnesses as possible,” she said. “It was bad enough that you sent Red to help me.”

The dots clicked for Clint. He turned to stare at Nat, gob smacked. “You knew he was alive!” he said, sounding strangled.

In response, the redheaded woman scowled at him. “I’m exhausted, not dead.”

“What?” Steve bit out.

“Yes, please explain to the rest of the class,” a testy Stark said.

Clint had no problem with that. “There’s only a handful of people who can spot when Morse is lying. Natasha and I are two of them, Fury is the third. Hill and Coulson can tell sometimes if she forgets to keep it simple.”

Bobbi stuck out her tongue at that, obviously dissatisfied with having that pointed out.

“Of course, this requires her to actual say something,” he mused. He reached back, holding his arm where Bobbi could duck under it if she liked.

She did so eagerly enough, pressing herself into his side. He kissed her temple, trying to keep things platonic between them like always. It was harder, now that he had let himself feel something for her in the first place. Stupid kiss.

He had to distract himself. “Congrats, by the way. Very sneaky of you to let us make the assumptions for you. Only would work for the short term, but effective. I’ll have to be more careful.”

Bobbi actually preened a little under the praise. He shook his head, unsurprised. And she complained about _his_ ego.

“You are a scary person, Mockingbird,” Thor entered the conversation, crossing his arms.

“Thank you,” she chirped, though Clint could feel how tense she still was. She knew how much trouble she was in, good. “Still mad at me?” she asked the demi-god.

Thor smiled at her roguishly. “Oh, definitively.”

“Why did you do it?” Stark asked, obviously not patient enough for answers.

Tilting her head to the side, Bobbi said like it was a question, “Because I actually read reports and files, so when it says Thor has a big mouth, I know he won’t be able to keep a secret, promise or not?”

Clint recognized a pointed dig when he heard it. “Hey!” he protested, giving her a dirty look. “I’m helping defend you here.”

She stuck her tongue out at him in response.

“I think what Stark is asking,” Coulson said from where he had been urged to sit down due to his injury. “Is why she faked my death.”

“Yes, that,” Stark said, though there was something shifty about it, like he was just jumping at a better reason for his question than why he’d actually asked it.

“Because Mockingbird and I were both assigned to the Initiative for the same reason,” Coulson explained. Clint blinked and turned his head to look at his girl. This was the first he’d heard of her being assigned to this mess. “Fury trusted our analysis of your personalities, which said… Well…”

“Getting you all together was going to be like adding Mentos to Diet Coke,” Bobbi took over the explanation. “Even Red wouldn’t be a calming influence but fuel to the fire. She’s too dominant, just like the rest of y’all.” Her Southern twang came out, combined with the mixing of metaphors telling exactly how nervous she was about all this. “You needed something to unite you. We weren’t sure what it was going to be yet, but… Well, y’all handle death and loss about the same.”

“So you gave us something to avenge,” Banner said hoarsely as he stepped out of the jet, dressed in the clothes Bobbi had offered. “And in the process, saved the world from an alien invasion.”

“By manipulating our emotions and lying to us,” Steve said, his disapproval strong.

“In her defense, Fury took over a large chunk of her training,” Coulson said. “It’s going to be her automatic first plan unless someone is around holding her back. And I was busy. She meant well.”

Everyone shared looks. Steve’s anger had lapsed, making Clint more certain that he wasn’t going to try and come to blows with Bobbi again. Banner was the same. Stark looked more curious than anything, but Clint’s gut knew it was a bad idea for some reason to let the genius talk too much with Bobbi. It would only lead to trouble. Thor had his grumpy face on, but probably would until he got Loki and the Tesseract safely off of Midgard. And Nat was calm and cool, since she’d obviously been in on all this.

So Clint squeezed Bobbi’s shoulders. “I think you’re mostly forgiven,” he said softly. “But you’d better get Coulson back to the infirmary.” Without waiting for a response, Coulson started for the jet, obviously ready to be back on painkillers.

Bobbi nodded at Clint, and then gave him a grin. “Give me a kiss, and I might be nice and send a pick-up jet for you after you do the shawarma thing,” she said.

He started and sputtered for a moment, before managing a croaked, “Morse!” in protest. Damn it all, the fewer people who knew how she had gotten him free of the Tesseract, the happier he would be.

She rolled her eyes and huffed at him. Cupping his face with both her hands, she turned his head and gave him a loud, obnoxiously fake kiss on the cheek, and then flounced off to Coulson, carefully helping him onto the quinjet. The ramp rose, and the jet was off again.

Clint waited till he knew Bobbi wouldn’t be able to see him, and then started rubbing his cheek into his shoulder with a grimace.

Stark snickered. “Does she have cooties or something, Barton?”

“I want the lip-imprint gone!” Clint rebutted. He knew Bobbi didn’t wear lipstick, but he was filthy enough from the fight, he was sure that it had left a mark.

“It was disgusting,” Nat added like she was agreeing with him.

“What happened to being ‘beaches’?” Steve asked, making Tony about choke on laughter as Banner moved to help Jarvis get the inventor out of the damaged suit.

Natasha shot both of them dirty looks. “I mean, look at him,” she said, gesturing at Clint. “She has no idea what any of that is, or where he’s been. And she put her mouth on him. Twice.”

“Twice?!” Stark said, jumping on this fact like a rat terrier and starting to grin.

Closing his eyes, Clint reminded himself that this was Nat thinking this shit was funny. He turned towards Tony. “Is this shawarma thing guys-only? Because if so, I’m in.” He’d had enough of his girls teasing him today.

“Hey,” Steve said, reaching up and clapping him on the shoulder, though he was looking between him and Nat. “Be nice.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Nat, and she just gave him a quiet, smug little smile. Nope, she wasn’t going to forget any of this for a while yet.

*****

“You know, you’re really lucky that worked.”

Bobbi looked up at her switches to where she’d rigged up a bed for Coulson to lie on now that she’d relieved him of his piloting duties. “What do you mean?” she said. She’d thought of everything, even finding a way around the problem of Clint being able to see through her lie by getting Red on her side to do it for her and letting the rest be by omission. What had she missed?

“If Barton had ever seen your real reaction to a death, he’d have known something was wrong,” he said.

Bobbi swallowed. Oh. That. “Neither of them have ever had any interest in my life, outside of occasional meet ups.” That was Clint. “Or when we’re forced on missions together.” Which was both of Clint and Romanoff.  “They couldn’t have known.” And Fury was going to know something was off sort of regardless, but would trust her to be doing the right thing.

Coulson gave her his casual, tell-nothing smile. “I thought you wanted to be closer with Barton? Seems a strange thing to hide from him.”

And another person that had figured things out before Clint. Bobbi shook her head and turned back around to look at the clouds. She wasn’t in a mood to be teased about this, not when Clint was so determined to keep things the same despite the kiss they’d shared in this cabin not even a full twelve hours ago. “He’s got to decide he wants to know my secrets before he can find them,” she said softly. She’d respected almost all of his, actually. He’d confided in her a little about his past, and she’d only pushed the boundaries when it was something like his safety that had her concerned, like with the safe houses.

But he’d never asked about the picture she had of her mother up in the cabin, or of her father. Never sought her out just to talk, always relying on her to find him. Which was a good bet, since she was the one addicted to what attention she could get from him.

And besides… “It’s not exactly the kind of thing that would attract a man, Coulson,” she pointed out wryly.

“Maybe,” he gave her a not-answer. When she turned her head, she saw that he was starting to drift off from the bit of painkillers she’d been able to give him to help him sleep on the way back to the infirmary. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to flying. The world was safe. Her own, personal world in the form of a small group of people was safe. It was a good enough day for her.

*****

Warm lips were against his, womanly curves pressed into his chest. His lips parted, and the woman he was kissing mouthed his lower lip. Her hips pushed down and circled against his cock, sending a surge of pleasure rushing through his system, twisted by a bit of pain as it forced his thoughts on a pattern that was more familiar to him. One of arousal and the need to feel a woman, to hear and feel her satisfaction before finding his own.

He surged against the restraints, needing to touch her. But he couldn’t, spiking his frustration. Clint had to settle for leaning forward, taking control of the kiss as best as he could. It took some maneuvering, but he was able to grind his rapidly hardening cock against her softness. The woman moaned, and he pulled back to nip at her lower lip, to see her face. Not that he really needed to.

Callouses on her hands, her body fit. No real perfume scents, but just sweat, skin, and steel. But no gunpowder, which clung to almost every other field agent like a cloud.

Almost.

“Bobbi,” he breathed her name against her lips. He leaned back, trying to get some distance so he could think rationally, ask her what was going on. Why was she kissing him like this?

But she didn’t let that distance stay. She pulled his mouth back to hers with a protest, “Don’t stop yet.” And her lips brushed against his lightly, an invitation. Her calloused fingers teased the back of his head and neck, driving him crazy.

He moaned and kissed her again, seeking permission into her mouth with a lap of his tongue. Permission she granted with an eager murmur. Their tongues tangled together in wet heat, hinting at what else parts of them could be doing. He shifted his arms, and the restraints melted away like they had never been there. Clint wasn’t going to ask why or how. He grabbed her hips and pulled them snug against his, grinding against her.

Bobbi gasped into his mouth and whimpered, her head tilting back and breaking the kiss. He ran his lips down her jawline and to the long line of her neck that she had exposed to him, sucking and licking at the sweet, tan skin. She moaned and tried to rub her body against his, needy and seeking his touch. It turned him on that much more, and he nudged her head, bringing her mouth back to his for another hot, wet kiss. While she was distracted, he rolled them over, somehow pushing her on to a bed underneath him.

She spread her legs, letting him settle in between them, and her battle suit was gone, leaving just golden skin for him to kiss and stroke, to bring her pleasure. He palmed one of her breasts, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and swallowing her eager moans. Bobbi ran her hands over his bare chest—his clothes were gone too, and the callouses from her own fighting made him hotter than any softly maintained hands of girls before her. Her short nails dug into his back as he entered her smoothly, groaning over how tight and wet she was for him.

Bobbi gasped as he bit the delicate skin between her neck and her shoulder, her inner muscles trembling all around him, squeezing and releasing in turns. Her gasp turned into a sharp keen as he prolonged her orgasm by reaching between her legs, rubbing her clit. But it couldn’t last, and he thrust into her quivering body harder, desperate as she whimpered and begged in his ear, telling him exactly how good he was making her feel.

He woke up with a cry on his lips, thrusting his hips into his mattress as he came. Panting for breath, Clint pressed his head against his forearms and swore. “What… the hell… was that…?” he asked himself. Besides hot as fuck. He moaned, not even remembering rolling over on to his stomach. Raising his head, he found that his pillow had made it to the floor of his room on the carrier in whatever he had been doing in his sleep.

And the damp quality of his sheets said that the dream had just been the last of many. He grimaced and stood up, yanking the blankets up and wadding them up in the corner to deal with in the morning. Clint stretched and walked into the attached bathroom, a perk to being one of the top agents. It meant he didn’t have to bothering putting on a pair of pants to go get cleaned up. Obviously, he needed a cold shower. A very, very cold shower.

As the spray hit his heated skin, he hissed, tensing up at first but slowly embracing the chill. He rubbed his eyes, hating that he was shocking his system out of much needed sleep…but not wanting to repeat this in a few hours either.

Really, Bobbi Morse? He shook his head at his own subconscious. That kiss had screwed with their safe relationship. Sure, she liked to sit in his lap rather than any available chair, and she had no qualms about touching him or giving him an innocent enough kiss on the cheek or forehead—a favor he returned often enough. It had never really meant anything. He dated girls as the need struck him, giving them a few days of romance before he took them to bed, and making sure they all knew it would never be more than that right from the beginning. He didn’t know what Bobbi did, but she’d never made any moves towards becoming one of those girls, happy with their friendship.

But now his brain was playing games with what had just been a friend undoing an enemy’s attack on his own mind. He shuddered even remembering that dark day he’d spent working against everything he was loyal to. Gratitude was being skewed, probably because it had been awhile since he had dated anybody.

Stepping out of the shower and toweling off, he pondered as he walked back into his room. Had there been someone expressing interest in him? Another blonde woman came to mind, which was also probably part of the problem. He found her name easily enough. Katelyn, from Accounting. He’d seek her out tomorrow, ask her out, scratch this itch. Then life could return to normal. Clint nodded and reached into the small cabinet that kept linens, pulling out a clean set of sheets for the rest of the night.


	8. It's All Fun and Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple weeks later, Bobbi needs help on a light mission...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, ya'll, on board the fluff train. This is the wrapping up part of the fic where we deal with some aftermaths.

Bobbi’s step faltered as she walked past a group of desk jockeys, the gaggle of women immediately bursting into muffled laughter. She turned her head to examine them, but they just bit their lips and shushed each other. Well, if that didn’t mean they were talking about her, she didn’t know what would.

Shaking her head, she turned back around and resumed her hunt for a certain hawk. She was too tired to deal with petty shenanigans today. The last two weeks had been utterly exhausting, between getting the carrier put back together, picking up the mess in New York, and making sure that the more local idiots didn’t use the aliens as an excuse to cause trouble. Just one last mission, though, and she was going to be the first on a wave of agents granted extended time off.

But she needed a little bit of help, which meant… Her eyes brightened as she spotted Clint splayed out on a sofa in one of the agent lounges, a tablet in front of him as he reviewed maps and some sort of details. He was sitting up enough, it was easy for her to trot over and drape her arms over his shoulders, resting her chin on his head.

“Morning, Bobbi,” he said without even looking up.

She smiled, but… Well, she guessed the incident in the hallway, which was the latest in a long string of similar ones, was getting to her worse than she thought. “Do you know why the office monkeys keep _giggling_ every time I walk by?” she asked in lieu of a greeting, unable to keep the pout of her tone.

Under her arms, Clint stiffened. Startled, she raised her head and looked down in time to catch his ears turning red. “Not a clue,” he said. And it was a bald-faced _lie_.

She blinked and stared at his mission orders without really seeing them. Maybe this was more serious than she thought.

He didn’t dare relax, waiting for her to call him on what he’d just said. For a lie, it was a bad one. He was certainly capable of a lot better. But he’d been too surprised that Bobbi had found out, even if it was just a reaction to it. Clint knew he should have done something—

She shifted around over and behind him, making him tense up further. “Why do they have you set up over here?” she asked, baffled. She reached out around him and moved the indicator on his screen around on the map with a touch. “That makes so much more sense and provides you with more cover.”

As far as a new topic of conversation went, it was a sucky one. Clint ground his teeth, not wanting to answer. But if it would keep her from asking about the rest of it… “They already have a sniper set up there,” he said. He was back-up, as galling as it was. This was what Hawkeye had been reduced to. Baby-sitting on the higher level missions, or being given ones so low on the threat level that it was borderline insulting.

“Well, doesn’t that just make you superfluous,” she muttered.

He rolled his eyes, looking up at her. There she went using that vocabulary of hers again. Sometimes, he got a little curious about what sort of education Bobbi had. Not enough to go digging, but curious all the same. “Do you have a point, Morse?”

Bobbi bit her lip and shrugged. She did, but he wasn’t going to like it. She wished she could tell him that it wasn’t Fury’s call, giving him these sorts of missions or ones even further below his paygrade. The Council still had all their panties in a bunch over Manhattan and were throwing their weight around. The director was trying to rein them in, but it was going to take time.

Time for a distraction, as well as being able to add to a list of completed, successful missions to his name so the Council could shut up. “Well, you just won’t go then,” she said factually, reaching over and tapping on the screen. “You’re far too good to be some back-up sniper when there’s something you can help me with instead.” She hit the Mission Denied button, sending the report back to Fury to either reassign the position or drop entirely, along with a simple note explaining she was going to hijack Barton for the rest of the day.

“Bobbi!” he protested.

She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Shut up and thank me later, Clint,” she said, and dug into her jacket pocket for what she’d come hunting him down for in the first place. Bobbi took one of his hands off the tablet and shoved the little velvet box into it instead. “Put this on with some civilian clothing, casual but nothing with holes in it. I’ll brief you on the jet.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze now that both of her hands were empty and quickly exited the room. As entertaining as his reaction was going to be, she had a feeling she didn’t want to be around to see it.

Clint stared at the box in his hand for a moment, baffled by the sudden turn-around in his plans for the day. So now instead of being, as Bobbi put it, a glorified babysitter, he was Bobbi’s helper on some undercover thing? Well wasn’t that just peachy. He rolled his eyes and opened the box with his thumb, huffing.

And about choked on his own breath. He stared blankly at the two-toned silver ring, recognizing it for what it was. A man’s wedding band. What the hell? Did she know what had happened that caused the giggling after all? Was this her way of giving him shit?

No way in God’s name was he pretending to be her husband, regardless. The boundaries of their relationship had gone grey enough on him, which just made his ears and the back of his neck turn warm again in embarrassment. No, this had to end.

Lurching up to his feet, he navigated the labyrinth of the carrier’s halls. Vaguely, he knew where Bobbi’s set area was…well, one of them. She was one of the few agents who had two spaces outside of her quarters. Not just an armory type area, but a lab. He’d never asked what happened in the lab, and after seeing that weird not-a-bullet thing of hers, he was afraid of asking. Obviously, she had some sort of tech assistant who was the real user of that lab space, it just couldn’t appear that way on paper without making the others jealous.

He saw her just as she was ducking into the one he knew about. Clint hurried, catching the door before it could completely shut. And had to pick up his jaw off the floor.

This wasn’t an armory. Well, it sort of was, since there was a section of the wall that was lined with various types of weapons, from her signature staves to knives and gadgets that he had no doubt exploded into something. There was some other sort of area where there was a partial door, reminding him of a dressing room in a department store. But the rest of one side was lined with cubicles, filled with go-bags, each behind a glass door that was clearly labeled with a name or with a blank card. The other side was lockers, labeled the same way, with shoes neatly laid out on shelves underneath.

The back wall was a vanity-type area, just more business-like, in a way. Up above the mirrors, a shelf housed foam heads that held wigs of various hues and cuts. There were cabinets and drawers on either side of them, God knew what was in them. A bench was tucked underneath it for now, though obviously it was normally where Bobbi sat. The only personal touch in the whole space was a turquoise jewelry box with silver decorations that sat on the counter.

For her part, Bobbi stood in front of one of those lockers, poking through the hangers with a frown on her face and muttering. She glanced up, sensing his presence somehow. She slowly raised one brow. “Was it something I said?” she said. “I thought I was pretty clear.”

He silently held up the box, both of his brows raising. “What the _hell_ is this, Morse?” he said, biting out the words.

Bobbi huffed, turning around to rest one hand on her hip. She kept her voice as bland as possible. “I’m asking you marry me, Barton,” she said, with absolutely no enthusiasm in her tone even if her heart was aching. “Run away with me. We’ll get married in Vegas.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to her closet, trying to remember what she’d worn last as Bella so she wouldn’t have to dig out a pair of her glasses and start checking tags. “What do you think it’s about, you big goof?” she said, meaning it now. “I need someone to pretend to be my husband for this alias.”

“That’s what you’ve got Daniels for,” he pointed out hotly. “He’s your partner for this sort of nonsense, not me.”

She froze, her hands hovering over the hangers. Closing her eyes, she collected herself, protecting the emotional wounds that still hurt. It had been a couple of weeks full of those. She opened her eyes and didn’t look at him as she shoved hangers apart to look at another garment closer. “Daniels still isn’t talking to me,” she said factually like it was no big deal.

“Bobbi…” Clint breathed, understanding like he always did without her having to explain much. “Does this have to do with…well, me?”

“World doesn’t revolve around you, sport,” she said. And it didn’t really have to deal with Clint. Bobbi frowned, spotting a flash of peach that she didn’t remember seeing in this particular alias’s wardrobe before. She dug that dress out to get a better look at it as she added to her thoughts. It had to do with the fact that Bobbi had knocked Daniels out and left him chained to a support beam before she chased Clint’s brainwashed butt down, rather than trust him with what was going on.

But she’d had good reasons for it, she stood beside that. Daniels would have turned her in, and never let her gone off, on her own or with him. He could just…deal it, eventually. Besides, Daniels was already known in Bella’s circle as her driver. Him suddenly becoming her husband would be too strange.

She frowned and held the dress up in front of her. This did not look like one of her buys, which meant it was one of the under agents who sometimes did her shopping for her to spread the requests around and keep anyone from knowing exactly what all pies Bobbi had her fingers in. Folding the hanger over, she held it in front of her to check the length.

Clint scowled. That was her avoiding the question, which he was discovering she did more of than he’d noticed. He wasn’t going to bend, though. No way in… Titling his head, his thoughts came flying out of his mouth before he had time to think about it. “You are not wearing that, are you?”

Startled, she looked up at him. “What do you care, you said you aren’t going,” she argued, even as she draped the dress over her arm. She hadn’t been planning on wearing it after seeing the length, but… Well, Bobbi wasn’t going to turn away from an easy way to goad him into doing what she wanted. She opened a drawer, grabbing the first pair of opaque tights she saw, and stalked into the changing area. “Now leave or don’t peek!” she ordered, but giving him a wink. She untied her boots and slipped them and her socks off, the jacket of the more standard SHIELD uniform she was wearing today following, getting draped over the door as a clue.

Still… She bit her lower lip. She wouldn’t protest if he did sneak a peek...

Sputtering, he reached up and rubbed the back of his head roughly, his eyes clenching shut. He wasn’t going. He wasn’t. This was not only beneath him, it was completely out of his specialty. Even if it was his fault that she didn’t have Daniels to take her…which laid on the guilt just perfectly. He scowled, hating that she was manipulating him so easily. His eyes widened in horror at the thump of leather against wood, and he had to turn and look.

The jacket was soon followed by the SHIELD regulation pants, and he bit his lip to keep from swearing. _Shit. Don’t look, don’t look…_ He couldn’t help but glance down, able to see her legs from the knee down. Bare, tanned, smooth skin that he could almost taste on his tongue from the dreams he’d had been having for the last two weeks, which had gotten increasingly more erotic. _Shit!_

He needed a distraction. The length of the skirt she was about to put on crossed his mind, and he settled for the first thing that came to mind. “What sort of event thing is this anyway?” he asked with just enough innuendo to make it clear he was implying a lot of things.

Next thing he knew, he had a face full of grey cotton fabric. “Ass,” Bobbi snapped, and he laughed, untangling the fabric from his head.

And then about swallowed his tongue as he recognized it. His eyes jerked back to the door, where she was standing on tiptoes behind it, her arms crossed over the front of the door while she pouted at him. Completely bare arms, except for two thin, beige straps on her shoulders. “You threw your shirt at me?” he said in disbelief, and then his brain processed that. The only thing she was wearing behind that door was a bra and underwear…and he felt his body stir.

Bobbi snickered as Clint immediately whipped around, the back of his neck turning red. Sometimes it was too easy to rile him up. She shook her head and pulled on the tights and the dress, humming softly. Inside though, she was a little nervous…and a whole lot of desperate. Normally, lingerie was not her thing—even for dressing as Bella or another alias, she had kept things staunchly practical. But once she’d gotten the call from one of her contacts, Monique Clay, and realized the hole she’d dug herself in, and that she would need a different partner for this event today….

Well, Clint had been the easy pick. And then she’d realized that this was the chance to test something she had been avoiding. For lack of anything else, Bobbi was wondering if she just didn’t appeal to Clint on the physical level, since he was so determined to keep them platonic. And while she couldn’t do anything about the fact she had a big butt, well, she could at least dress to bring her chest closer into balance with it. It had been as embarrassing as hell to grab the gag-gift from one of her friends, something of birthdays long past, but she’d done it. The lingerie set was silk and nice, just…not what she wore. Especially the way it pushed her boobs up, making them look too big to her eyes, even under the fabric of the dress.

Opening the door, she gently set her hand on his shoulder to let him know she was out. He glanced at her quickly, obviously want to make sure she was completely dressed. She huffed in amusement, but answered his earlier question like it had been a serious one. “It’s just a luncheon,” Bobbi told him. “I had to make up something the last time I saw these people, and now I’ve got to follow through.”

“Right,” he grunted, looking her up and down. His eyes landed on her legs, and then quickly flicked back up to her eyes. “Why did you mention a husband in the first place?”

She shrugged and pulled out the bench, flopping down on it with a sigh. “Because the alias needs to be a nit-twit, so the men will talk over her head, but she won’t be accepted by the women as anything more than someone trying to steal their husbands without a ring on her finger herself. So I made a military husband, gone a lot for deployments, but the couple is highly devoted to each other, explaining my long absences as him being home.”

His eyes flickered down to her legs again and then back up at her. Frowning, she looked down too, not sure what was so fascinating. And bit her lip in sheepish embarrassment. First pair of opaque tights turned out to be the ones that looked like thigh highs with garters…and the satin slip part of the dress didn’t come down near long enough to cover them. Hell, it barely covered her butt. The lace was longer, and gave it a high collar of over the satin’s deep sweetheart, but still. This was rather risqué.

But then, Bella would be relieved to have her husband back, and pretty desperate to keep his attention on her and get them out of the luncheon as fast as possible. Bobbi smoothed her face and looked up at Clint, raising her brows in a copy of his usual, “What?” expression.

He gritted his teeth, eyes flashing. “I’ll be at the hangar in fifteen,” he managed to bite out and then stalked out the door.

Blinking, Bobbi couldn’t step the wide grin that crossed her face. Whirling to look at the mirror, she beamed at the reflection. She knew this wasn’t really a date… But it was a day where Clint had to least _pretend_ to be romantic with her. Not with the office girls that he had picked right up dating again, despite the fact she’d kissed him. Even if it was just for one day, she would take it. And she’d barely had to put any pressure on him at all to get it.


	9. Snack Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Clint really hates going undercover with Bobbi for stupid climate-testing missions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the extra large helping of crack, you're regularly scheduled ass-kicking will resume next chapter.

Clint adjusted the gear of the car, appreciating that at least if Bobbi was going to drag him on one of her missions, she made the ride cool. If it had been black, he’d expect the had-to-be-expensive black Jaguar convertible to be Fury’s personal vehicle. But instead, it was bright red and the sort of thing a guy would buy the instant he came into money.

Which is exactly what his new alias did. Chris Martin was a farm boy from middle America who enlisted as soon as he turned eighteen, exactly like Clint in some ways, except instead of getting himself noticed and pulled into SHIELD, he’d married into money in the form of an officer introducing him to a friend’s daughter, Isabella “Bella” Cartier. They had been married for a couple years now, but due to him still being in the military, it was like it was only a couple weeks. Explained why she had wanted Clint, since they had no problem being in physical contact with each other.

He glanced over at Bobbi out of the corner of his eyes. He’d been shocked when he’d seen her. She’d put on make-up, a first for him to see. Her freckles, normally a splash across her nose, were gone, her eyes looked bigger and doll-like, and her mouth plumped into a spoiled pout. Golden curls cascaded over her shoulders, held out of her face by a brown scarf with an abstract, two toned pattern on it in peach. Diamonds hung from her ears, bangles from one of her wrists, and on her left hand was a diamond ring that he didn’t want to know the cost of.

Judging of the way she kept fiddling with it, Bobbi didn’t necessarily like it either.

“So, who all is going to be here?” he said, figuring it best if he asked a few more questions than what he’d already asked on the flight down here.

Bobbi’s foot jiggled, the motion drawing his attention to the way the brown leather of her boots clung to her calf. Scowling, he jerked his eyes back to the road. Next time, he was just taking the dress and letting her figure this out on her own.

“I think three other couples,” she answered the question at last. “That’s the norm, anyway. Sometimes more, but that’s if it’s a bigger event.” She sighed. “And there were three women at the brunch that Daniels carried me out of after Coulson called.”

He jerked his head to look at her. “Carried you out?”

She shrugged one shoulder, tangling her fingers around one curl. “I was upset,” she said. “And the first excuse I thought of for why I was so while in alias called for hysterics. Her husband was MIA.”

Clint cringed. Ow. Close enough to the truth to hurt. He had to appreciate it the simplicity of it, though. He breathed out as a club house in the Hamptons came into view, slowing the car down and pulling into the gravel drive. Once parked, he walked around to the other side and opened the door for Bobbi.

She blinked, startled, but gave him a smile. She swung her legs neatly out of the side of the car, standing up and immediately tucking her arm through one of his. Inside, though, she was shaking. This was unfamiliar territory for her and Barton, in a lot of ways. And when Bobbi was nervous…she chattered. “It’s your fault we’re going to get heckled, you know,” she muttered at him. “I wasn’t planning on you testing the car’s engine.”

“And this means we’re getting heckled because…?”

She grinned at him. “Bella Martin has a reputation for always being at least fifteen minutes late.”

He snorted, trying not to laugh, since that was almost the exact opposite of Bobbi’s reputation…or at least, a strange variation of it. She was the proverbial wizard, arriving exactly when she intended to or was needed and not a second before.

A dark haired woman came around the corner and brightened a little when she saw them. “Bella!” she called, waving her hand. “We’re over here on the patio!”

Bobbi waved her hand to acknowledge Monique, and muttered her name to Clint under her breath with an added warning, “Careful. Her bark is worse than her bite, but her bite is venomous.”

He rolled his eyes, obviously not believing her. He’d have to see for himself. They climbed up the stairs and around the white, wooded porch to the much wider patio area. A group of six people had taken over the lounge area, sitting in the large wooden chairs with royal blue cushions like royals. A low table in front of them was set up for lunch service, though currently the plates were empty.

The women all stood up to greet Bobbi, who stepped away from Clint to accept the hugs and air kisses. Besides the petite, Hispanic Monique, there was the redheaded, former model Karen Drake, and another blonde, her hair more platinum than Bobbi’s but her height about the same if ten years older, Meredith Keith. Their husbands gave Clint nods in greeting which he returned stiffly, holding himself military straight.

She quickly pulled back from the hugs to grab Clint’s hand, pulling him towards the only empty seat, a wide love-seat style bench that could comfortably sit both of them no matter how they looked. Bobbi waited for him to settle with a typical Bella fidget with her hair, her back stiff. She could feel Mr. Keith staring at her…particularly her ass and legs. She couldn’t get Clint to give her a second look, but this pervy old man had come dangerously close to her crushing his fingers once after he didn’t get the hint not to touch her.

Clint looked over and around her, his brow furrowed. He took one of her hands in his, giving her finger tips a squeeze.

She got a better grip than he had and returned it tenfold. Silently conveying her unease.

He scowled, and tugged at her, quickly pulling her into his lap. She squealed, acting the part of Bella, but as Bobbi, she instantly relaxed, trusting him completely. Clint settled his hand over her hip, his eyes leveled somewhere that she couldn’t see sitting like this. She adjusted her legs stretched across his lap to make sure her dress was decent, and settled her head against his shoulder.

For his part, Clint was keeping an eye on the man with the blonde wife who was unabashedly staring at Bobbi. And she had wondered why he’d put up a fuss over this dress? God, she _needed_ a jealous husband to poke his head into this group occasionally if it meant this cad wouldn’t make her uncomfortable.

“Good to see you’re alright, Gunny,” one of the other husbands said, raising his glass towards Clint and pulling his attention away from his attempts to glare a hole into a man’s head. “We all got a bit worried when the ladies told us about Bella, a couple weeks ago.”

Bobbi stiffened in his lap, and he reached down with his free hand to squeeze one of her knees, letting her know it was okay. “Sorry about that,” Clint apologized, keeping his voice light. “One of my buddies jumped the gun there, I guess wanting Bella to hear it from a friend. I was fine.”

She kicked her ankle against his calf lightly, calling him on that big fib. He ignored it, focusing on the small talk around them. There was a lot of teasing about Bella being on time thanks to her husband, it being nice to meet Chris after all this time. The men started talking business at one point, which Clint could see Bobbi was paying attention to despite being involved in the women’s side of things. Clint didn’t have to add more than his two, farm-boy cents occasionally, which helped him relax a little. This wasn’t so bad…

A waiter finally came out with a platter of food. Clint barely glanced at it before shaking his head. “Not for Bo—Bella or I,” he said, catching himself at the last second and mentally swearing. No one seemed to catch his slip, or at least call him on it.

Bobbi blinked and stared up at him, and the rest of the group did the same. “Oh right, she’s allergic to shellfish,” the redheaded woman said with a start. “I’m sorry, Bella, I completely forgot!”

Allergic? He glanced down at Bobbi, who made a face at him. Oh, right, alias had to have a better excuse than Bobbi’s claim that she could taste the difference between Pacific and Atlantic sea food and the latter was gross, or just her general hatred of oysters.

“Not that you need them, right, Bella?” the cad from before tried to flirt, and Clint’s anger snapped right back to the forefront. He lurched forward.

Eyes widening, Bobbi quickly pushed at Clint’s chest, keeping him from standing up. “Behave,” she hissed, reminding him that they were supposed to be relaxing with friends here. “He’s harmless.” A pain in her ass, but harmless. Besides, if he got too forward, Bobbi would claim to use some self-defense her supposed husband taught her and punch the guy’s teeth in.

“Harmless my—” he protested.

She clasped her hand over his mouth. “Chris!” she said to reinforce the fact they were undercover here. He glared at her, but he at least stopped trying to throw her on the floor. Smiling at him in understanding, she moved her hand from his mouth to the back of his neck, resting her forehead against his with a tug.

He breathed out slowly through his nose, rubbing her lower back slowly with his hand. “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I’ll behave.”

“Good,” she said, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss (not that he seemed to know that’s what these had been all these years).

“Even though he’s got to be at least ten years older than me and married,” he added grumpily.

She frowned. “Stop that, or…” Bobbi trailed off, not certain what threat Bella would use. Her usual one of kicking his butt all over the practice mats wouldn’t exactly work.

“Or what, you’ll spank him?” Monique quipped, making Bobbi about jump out of her skin and whip around to stare. Crap, she’d gotten lost in their own little world again.

She flushed in embarrassment and pouted at Monique. “Don’t say that,” she whined in Bella’s breathless tone, much to the laughter of the other guests. She sighed as the subject turned away from her and Clint again, at least until lunch arrived. Rather than eight plates, they brought out four, meant to be shared.

Mostly because these women didn’t eat. Bobbi sighed. Or at least, eat in a way that a healthy, athletic person like her ate. She’d have to grab something else on the carrier before she left, or pray that picking off of Clint’s plate filled her up until she made it to her place for her leave. He was obviously less than sure what to do, so she spared him the trouble of having to figure it out. The steak and veggie dish had a pile of little biscuit balls as one of the sides.

She swiped one of those, dipping it in the sauce, and took the bite. “I’ll just pick at your plate,” she whispered to Clint with a kiss to his cheek.

He rolled his eyes at her and took a bite of the falling-apart-tender beef. She saw when he liked what he tasted. Slowly swallowing, he said, “You can have the rabbit food.”

“Veggies are good for you, Chris,” she reminded him with a poke. She snagged another of the biscuits…and decided a little teasing was in order. “Here, taste this,” she said, pressing it against his lips instead of hers.

Clint narrowed his eyes at Bobbi, recognizing that gleam. She was going to be a brat. But he didn’t have many options in order to maintain cover. Opening his mouth, he snagged the bite from her fingertips, and was unable to resist the urge to nip her finger tips before she had a chance to pull her hand back.

Stupid dreams.

She flushed and turned around so she was between his legs almost instead of in his lap so she could go after the asparagus or whatever that was easier. He wrapped an arm around her waist to help her keep her balance, and got a horrible idea, one to get back at her for that little antic. Grinning, he let himself be distracted from the food to brush some of Bobbi’s hair out of his way, exposing the long line of her neck. Clint leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over the sensitive spot beneath her ear before placing a linger kiss there. The rather impressive bruise that had been around her neck after Manhattan had healed at last, no longer sending him into a rage just seeing it, especially after he learned Loki had been the giver of it.

He wanted to lick his lips (or her, her would be better) to see if the freshly healed skin tasted as salty sweet as he had been imagining.

She dug her nails into his arm, her eyes growing wide as heat flooded her at the unexpected feeling of his mouth against her skin. What the fracking hell was he doing? And then it crossed her mind that this was a challenge. Bobbi had unintentionally thrown down the gauntlet in one of his favorite games, flirting with just enough physical teasing to entice for the next game.

Well then… She let her eyes fall to half-mast, unable to resist the temptation to play. Bobbi wiggled a little till she was more thoroughly settled against him, feeling him stir against the curve of her ass which just made her more eager. Taking his free hand in hers, she rested it on her knee for him, putting her hand over it and squeezing, forcing his to contract under hers. She gave a pleased murmur when he started teasing the skin there with his fingertips. Then she raised her hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling his ear closer to his mouth.

“Tomorrow?” she breathed, keeping her voice soft so they wouldn’t be overheard. While she spoke, her fingers teased the back of his neck. “I’m kicking your ass all over the training room.” And then she took the lobe of his ear in her mouth and gave it a tug with her teeth.

Okay, this was going too far. Between her wiggling right against him, her hand on his neck, and her mouth on his ear, he was on shaky grounds. But Clint didn’t dare move her from his lap, or everyone around the table would see how she was affecting him. And damn her for affecting him. She was supposed to be a friend, just a friend, no lust in the equation! When had everything about that statement gone to hell?! “We’ll see,” he whispered back at her, his voice husky and doing nothing to hid his current state. “Now stop it before you give your friends any more of a show.”

Bobbi blinked, and he could feel when she became aware of their audience. She went stiff as a board in his hold, and he could see the flush crossing her cheekbones, fascinating him against his better judgment. He looked up and snickered, spotting a couple of the ladies fanning themselves and winking at Bobbi.

Oh fracking hell. She felt like her face was on fire, and all it took was her trying to scoot off of Clint’s lap, despite his firm hold on her, to set off the rounds of giggling. Damn it, she’d wanted away from that reaction to her too! How could she have forgotten they were surrounded around by a bunch of other people? She knew that answer, because she was exhausted and was enjoying this fake date too much. Bobbi had to rein herself in.

At last, he let her move, if only far enough to resettle her how she had been before the food arrived. She tucked her head under his chin, wanting to hide her embarrassment at least a little. He chuckled and rubbed her back, though she could tell he was still aroused. Well, at least her concerns about him not being physically attracted to her were dying. What changed?

“So, when are you and Chris going to give us some children?” Karen asked as the last of the plates were picked up.

Bobbi stiffened in his arms, even as Monique hissed at the redhead, “Karen!” Which turned into giggles. “That isn’t exactly your choice!”

“Balderdash,” Karen said in response with a sniff while Clint tried to figure out what was wrong with Bobbi. Was she hurting somehow? He’d have thought her ribs would have healed, and he didn’t know of any other major injury she’d had since Manhattan… “I want someone to play with my Henry, preferably a little girl so we can match-make. What do you say, Bella?”

Bobbi’s breathing was too fast, which was setting off all sorts of alarms in his head. “Bella,” he said softly when she didn’t answer her alias’s friend right away. “It’s alright.” It was a lame attempt to make her feel better. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing down lightly to try and get through to her.

She squeezed back, and he saw her finally get her bearings. Bobbi relaxed into his hold, and he frowned, wondering what that all was about. She looked at her friend and gave a smile. “I think we’re going to hold off until we know they’ll have both their parents around,” she said. Instantly, the women shared looks, obviously remembering the lie Bobbi had told them was the reason behind her upset the last time they’d all met.

But Clint wasn’t sold. Not just because she said we, which implied him, which wasn’t going to happen. But the way she reacted was too deeply personal. He frowned at her. What did he not know about Bobbi? Did she not want children? That didn’t feel right to him. She was too cuddly, too friendly. It just seemed like it was part of her personality, to turn her way of looking after those close to her towards children. So maybe she couldn’t have them? But she was only what, twenty-four? That sounded about the right age, too young for something to have caused fertility problems, surely. He was lacking in answers, which was frustrating.

Conversation around them turned to other topics, and he could feel Bobbi going lax against his shoulder. She was about to fall asleep, which would not look good on the mission report. He wiggled his shoulder, jarring her awake with a protesting whine. “Come on, Bella,” he said. “Let’s get you home before you fall asleep.” He gave her a pointed look at that one.

Bobbi pouted. She’d known what she was doing! She wasn’t actually going to doze off, just giving him a good excuse to get them out of there. But if he was going to be an ass… She sighed and leaned her head more thoroughly against his shoulder. “Fine, just don’t drop me,” she said with a yawn, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Drop her? He scowled down at her. Oh the little _brat_ … Fine. He hooked his arms underneath her, picking her up with ease. “You need to eat more,” he muttered. She felt too light to him. She swung her foot, giving him a tap against the ribs, whether as punishment or to let him know she heard that, he didn’t know.

“It was nice meeting you,” Monique said with a wink. “Feel free to come by again.”

He’d rather burn in Hell. But he managed a smile and a nod back, then carried Bobbi around back. He took the steps carefully, but as soon as they reached the drive, he said a little louder, “You’re lucky I don’t pretend to slip and let you hit gravel,” he said.

“But then I’ll have to give you even more bruises tomorrow,” she said sweetly.

“You wish,” he said with a scoff, though he did set her down to stand on her own two feet when they reached the car so he could unlock it. She slipped into the passenger seat, and he refrained (barely) from doing a _Dukes of Hazzard_ move and sliding across the hood, instead walking around like the stiff he was pretending to be.

As he was pulling out of the drive, Bobbi opened the glove compartment, hitting a button so it flipped around, becoming a consol. She hit the first button, which did a sweep of both the car and her and Clint for listening devices. It beeped an all-clear for her, and she stared typing up a report of all the she had heard while it was still fresh in her mind. Sending it off to Fury for review, she gladly put the mess up and slouched in her seat.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “Thank God that’s over with. As soon as we hit the carrier, I am on leave for the next eighteen hours and don’t stand in my way unless you have a gun.”

Clint chuckled at her. “Big plans?” he asked curiously.

“Surfing,” she said with a happy sigh. “You know, that thing called a hobby?”

“Hey, I have a hobby,” he said, giving her a dirty look. “I just happen to also use that hobby at work.”

“Then it isn’t a hobby anymore,” she said with a grin. “Find a new one.”

“Brat,” he told her with a scowl. “Like I have so much time to be finding hobbies.”

She wrinkled her nose. She had time. She had lots of hobbies. Or at least, lots of things to do besides spy work. It was that or get bored, and bored Bobbi was bad Bobbi, or so had the mantra gone during her rookie year.

Her phone rang, reminding her that she had another thing scheduled for the day. Swearing like a military grunt (thank you Clint for that lovely habit), she scrambled to get to the stupid thing in time, almost killing herself on the seatbelt to reach where she’d tucked it away in her jacket. Grabbing it, she quickly swiped the screen and put it to her ear. “Morse,” she said, sounding out of breath. She reached over and slapped Clint’s shaking shoulder as he suppressed laughter.

“Bobbi? It’s Dr. Garrison.”

“Hello, Samantha,” Bobbi said, emphasizing the first name for some reason. “What can I do for you?”

Clint tilted his head, wishing she was on the other side of his head so he could hear the conversation on the other end of the line. All he heard was vague murmurings.

And Bobbi letting out a whine. “I get time off and plan to go surfing as soon as we’re done this afternoon, and you pull a test on me?” she said with a sigh. “Do I at least have time to get real food? I grabbed a snack on my morning run, but that’s been it.”

Test, what test? His brows rose. He thought Bobbi at least had a GED or something. Most SHIELD agents did, with exceptions for people like him. He’d managed to avoid it. Clint no longer did well with sitting at desks for long stretches of time.

“Who the hell is ready for a clinical trial?” Now Bobbi sounded angry. Clinical trial? That sounded medical related. He swallowed, remembering the conversation that had just happened. Was his girl sick and she hadn’t said anything? But no, she sounded more frustrated that someone was ready, which made no sense in that context.

“Send me a copy of the proposal and any raw data you have,” she said tensely, reaching up to rub between her brows. “I’ll review it and let you know by noon, alright?” She hung up the phone without saying good-bye, rubbing the plastic against her brow like it would help. “I hate people some days,” she muttered.

“Problems?” he asked with his brows raised.

She flopped her head back with a sigh, and then sat up, reaching into the glove box again, this time pulling out a tablet and a hard glasses case. “Someone’s being an idiot,” she said with a scowl. “No one had any kind of research published recently that suggested they would be ready for a clinical trial of any kind of pharmaceutical. So either they sat on it and are trying to beat out the competition instead of help people, or they have nothing. I’m not sure which pisses me off more.”

Clint blinked, not used to hearing that kind of talk out of her. It almost made it sound like she developed medicines for some kind of disease. But she was a SHIELD agent. How did she have time for something like that on the side? How did she have time to get the education involved to do that on the side? She’d have to have at least her bachelor’s degree for that, wouldn’t she?

Okay, time to get answers out of his girl, though he was figuring out that he had to approach it sideways or Bobbi would just avoid the question. He thought carefully about his next words. Meanwhile, she got the tablet powered up and set a pair of reader-type glasses on his nose. Those startled his mouth into moving without permission. “You wear glasses?”

“Far-sighted as hell,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And my eyes need more oxygen than they can get with contacts.” She glanced out of the corner of her eyes and grinned at him. “Don’t worry, my goggles have lenses if I ever really need them in combat.”

He was more concerned about her flying, but sure, combat was a concern too. Clint shook his head, his shoulders shaking as he resisted the urge to laugh and tell her how cute the glasses made her look, breaking up the line of freckles across her nose.

Of course, Bobbi took this to mean he was laughing at her, and reached over to whack his shoulder with a scowl. He leaned away, giving in to full on laughter. She grumbled and started making notes on whatever was on the tablet, and he figured he might as well keep her talking until he found out what he wanted to know. “What is the medicine supposed to be for?” he asked, trying to keep his tone conversational.

“A mutation on MS—multiple sclerosis—that doesn’t even have an official name yet because it’s impossible to tell it apart from the normal until the patient is dead,” she said, frowning. “We’re trying to find a way to diagnose the patients earlier, but the nature of the mutation is making it tricky.”

“How long have you been studying it?” he asked, genuinely curious about this part of her life that he’d never heard of before.

“Oh, God,” she sighed. “Long enough that I’m frustrated with idiots like this. He doesn’t even acknowledge what we’ve learned about normal MS over the years.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, he’s also a sexist, ageist ass, so…”

He snickered. “I take it you know him?”

“I did some of my grad assistantship under him as an intern,” she said. “Thank God that was only for a semester.”

Time to make a dig, “So Bobbi Morse, M.D.,” he mused, waiting for a reaction.

“Ph.D.,” she corrected him without looking up from what she was doing.

Cling slammed on the brakes, uncaring of the fact he was in the middle of the road.

“Barton, what the hell?” she gasped, almost chocking on her seat belt again. Bobbi turned to look at him, and he saw her eyes widen. “Oh God, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Clint shook his head and slowly started the car up again before he managed to kill the transmission. “You have your doctorate?” he repeated in disbelief.

“I was _bored,”_ she said, repeating part of the mantra that he had established as her SO alongside Coulson. “Bad Bobbi, remember?” She winced and slouched in the chair. “It’s what brought me to SHIELD’s attention in the first place.”

What? He did the math and started swearing, making her cringe. “You had your Ph.D. before I got landed with you?” he finally managed to confirm. Meaning while she was barely twenty.

“Yes,” she said, trying for meek in her tone. It didn’t work well.

Jesus. No wonder his gut said not to let her and Tony stay in the same room for too long. Just him and Banner was a terrifying thought. All three of them? He shuddered…and then paused, realizing why this was shocking him so badly. “Okay. Two questions. One, why the hell are you a field agent instead of in the labs? Two, why do you hide your degree?”

Bobbi scowled at him. “Bad Bobbi,” she repeated. “I got my degree in biochem, which SHIELD doesn’t do much of. Trust me, I’d be bored in a year.” As for the other… She sighed. “And I don’t hide it. I just don’t sling it around and brag about it.” And it always felt like bragging, since she hadn’t actively sought it out. She’d always preferred math and science growing up, and it had just been one thing leading to the other.

She jumped when Clint reached over and grabbed one of her hands, holding it in his. “Morse, you got three degrees before you could legally drink,” he said. “Bragging is the least of what you should be doing. People who care about you want to be proud of you and what you’ve done. Hard to do if you don’t tell us important crap like this.”

“It’s in my file,” she argued. “Why don’t you read one occasionally?”

“But that takes all the mystery out of life,” he complained, giving her a grin and a wink.

She rolled her eyes and huffed, muttering but deciding to pick her battles for later. This time, he eased the car to a stop for a train crossing on the way to their pick-up for the carrier, rather than jolting her. Bobbi was severely tempted to nap, the rhythmic clatter of the train getting to her.

“I like trains,” Clint said off-handedly, making her eyes crack open from where they’d drifted closed.

Just in time for the caboose to pass by.

Now she had to ask. “Considering the timing of that, I have got to ask…” she drawled. “Are you an ass man, Barton?”

Jumping, he turned to stare at her, brow furrowed. Where had she gotten that from? It was just a train. “Do I want to know how your brain works?” he asked. “Seriously, what the hell, Morse?” He’d just been trying to get the conversation away from such serious topics.

She snickered, obviously amused over his reaction. Sometimes, he wondered why he hung out with her, seeing as she couldn’t go less than an hour without making a quip or joke.

“And wouldn’t you like to know,” he added with a smirk to answer her question. Though she was right, he was a man who appreciated the dark meat, and hers had always been nice—damn it, this was not helping with his current problem. They were friends, and he wanted it to stay that way. He focused on driving, needing to do something other than think about Bobbi.

Her laughter and teasing him that she was sure she was right did not help matters at all.


	10. Real Friends Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some playful ass-kicking. And we find out what happened with Katelyn.

Late, late, late, she was _late_. Bobbi skid on the floor of the carrier, the tile floor not forgiving with her sandals at all. But she made it to catch the elevator up to the more personal areas of the carrier…and earned her a few stares, given her current wardrobe. Unfortunately, she did not care. Bobbi just pushed her sunglasses up so they rested on top of her head, holding her hair out of her face. She was from California, born and mostly raised, and a beach bum. Modesty did not become her.

The doors opened and she checked the slim sports watch on her wrist, breathing a little easier. Clint still had another fifteen minutes of his usual archery practice, which she wasn’t going to interrupt for a friendly spar. Not when he relied on it so heavily.

Too heavily, but that was a problem for later.

First, she walked out into the training floor, which was really more of two floors…sort of. Like her and Clint’s cabin up on the border, it had a split floor design, with a two story walkway/stairs separating the two spaces. On the right were the two stories with glass walls so you could see in while providing a sense of separation. Upstairs was the arms range, both compound bows and guns. Underneath was a more standard workout room with weight training and treadmills. To the left, it was the same height but without the two floors, giving the room some fighters needed for higher maneuvers. Mats were laid out in sections so no one would seriously injure themselves in training, far enough away that one spar or workout wouldn’t bother another. There were numerous dummies of various styles lined against the wall, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

The women’s locker room was up the stairs, near the ranges, while the men’s was downstairs. (So they would offend people’s noses less, but that was her opinion.) She bounced up the stairs, taking off her sandals so she wouldn’t slip and break her neck on the steel steps.

Clint was easy enough to find. He was firing bolts at a target, one right after another without even taking the time to aim. She was more than a little jealous, since she was sure they were all clustered around the middle. She’d be lucky if they had all hit the target if it was her doing it. Bobbi waited for him to finish the set, and then checked her watch. “Up for our match in fifteen minutes?” she asked. He had ten minutes of archery left, which would give him five minutes to catch his breath and her enough time to change and warm up.

Breathing out through his nose, Clint pulled himself out of the intense focus he’d slipped into during his practice. “I expected you to be banging on my door first thing this morning,” he complained, turning around to glare at her.

And promptly getting his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A reaction he was quickly getting sick of as far as _his friend_ was concerned.

Outside of the mission yesterday, Bobbi had an unofficial uniform that was pretty consistent, in his experience. Her Mockingbird suit for combat situations, SHIELD regulation pants and jacket over a shirt around the carrier, various athletic pants and bras when working out. He’d never seen her out of it before yesterday, mostly because he assumed that, like him, it was as comfortable for her as normal clothing.

If this was her definition of normal, he was in so much trouble. He took in the bikini top, one of the strapless kind, hardly covered at all by the shirt she wore unbuttoned over it as a cover-up. Clint swallowed when he noticed it was the same reddish purple as he used for his uniforms. But all of that, he could have lived with…maybe. It was the barely-there black shorts that about did him in, exposing miles of leg…including teasing ties that had to belong to the bikini bottoms to match the top that hung off the sides.

He wanted to tug at those ties after kissing his way up those legs...even the one with swirling lines of brown ink going up them.

Wait, what?

“What, were you too busy getting _tattooed?”_ he demanded, shocked. Did she have any idea what kind of liability that was to her status as an agent? Much less what it would do to his _sanity?_

She raised one brow at him. “It’s temporary, Clint,” she said dryly. “And for your information, yes, I was. Do you have any idea how long it takes henna to dry, especially for a piece this big?” And then she shrugged the shoulders of the shirt down, turning around to expose the long line of her back.

The brown swirls and roses traveled from her left ankle, up her calf and thigh, and somewhere under the shorts, then crossed from her left hip to her right shoulder to continue its trail down her right arm to the back of her hand. The pieces on her limbs were delicate and thin, but when it hit her hips/shoulders, it expanded out to form a much bigger back piece. It was so dark against her tan, it was nearly black, and definitely fresh.

And something he didn’t need to see. Shutting his eyes, he tried not to growl at her. “The better question is why do you even have it,” he snapped.

“What’s the matter, sport?” Bobbi asked, walking up to him. She pressed the curve of her body into his chest, unable to help herself. His feathers were definitely ruffled, and she was fascinated as to why. “Do you like it?” she asked, gliding her fingers along his jawline lightly.

He opened his eyes with a snap, reaching out to grab her wrist. “Morse,” he said warningly. “Knock it off.” His touch wasn’t too harsh, meaning he wasn’t angry. Probably just frustrated over his mission status still.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, aren’t we in a mood today?” she said with a pout. “Chin up, charmer, you’ve got ten more minutes of archery while I go change. Try to take it easy, alright? I don’t want to beat you too badly…” And then she slipped out of his hold and flounced off for the changing room. “I’ll warm up while you finish!” she called over her shoulder.

Shaking his head after her, Clint relaxed a little bit. That was typical Bobbi. Always teasing, always so confident. She’d been that way even when she was green, which always made finding her limits entertaining. Usually, she’d start swearing and then ask for ways to improve. It was amusing.

He turned back to his arrows, full intending on using his ten minutes. He’d tuned out the world until the guy in the lane next to him paused, reached over and grabbed his buddy, hissing Bobbi’s name. That pulled Clint to a halt. What was happening now?

Vaguely, he heard some sort of techno, pop sounding music coming from the other side of the glass separating the other part of the training center from the range. Not surprising, as long as the other people on the mats didn’t mind. He frowned though when he saw about four or five younger male agents, probably around Bobbi’s age but lacking in her experience, gathered there. That wasn’t normal.

He walked to the side of them, wanting to see exactly what had their attention.

The mats were almost completely empty—not surprising at this time of day, especially with the waves of people on leave still trickling in. The only figure out there had her blonde hair now up in a high ponytail, changed over to an all-black variation of her work-out gear. Bobbi. She had been stretching, but as he leaned on the hand rail, she slowly rose up with the beat of the music, stretching her fingers up into the air like she could reach the sky. Now he was watching out of curiosity, since he’d never seen her warm-up routine before. Even when he was her SO, she’d always been warmed up before he’d managed to track her down.

What happened next was possibly the most unintentionally enticing thing he’d seen in his life.

It was a dance—shocking enough, since to his knowledge Nat was the only ex-ballerina in the ranks, and that’s if you stretched the truth. You wouldn’t know that by watching Bobbi move, though. Each move was fluid and graceful, completely in control of her body as she successfully warmed it up slowly. It was impossible to miss the muscle flexing and rolling under the tan skin, strong and limber, each move laced with determination.

But it was the way she moved that had him and the gaggle of boys’ paying attention to her. She didn’t dance for them, but at the same time… Clint almost bit his tongue as she bent her back and her leg at one point, bringing her foot close to her head. And then she righted her back, keeping her foot so close to that blonde ponytail that it almost touched it. He heard one of the boys moan as another swore, “Damn,” under his breath.

And then she bent forward, her hands behind her back to bring her head level with her supporting leg, that raised leg bending straight up into the air.

Clint felt a shudder go through him, and he had to hold on to the rail tighter. To keep himself from going down there and doing… he didn’t even know what… or from strangling the boys next to him for looking at Morse with lust in their eyes, he didn’t know.

She lowered her hands to the mat and threw her weight on to her palms, bringing her supporting leg up. And with a little flick of her legs, she lowered the leg she had been raising up into the air over her head, doing a cartwheel up to her feet. He swallowed, not wanting to think too hard about that as she started spinning and extending her legs and feet in elegant snaps, each one doing its job…but also showing off the lines of her body. Out of his good ear, he heard one of the boys mutter about what he wished he could do to her.

Enough. He needed to get down there, now. Clint wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he was going to do something to make it clear that Bobbi was not eye candy for them to be oogling. He pushed away from the rail and made for the stairs at a fast walk.

Bobbi breathed out slowly as the pop song ended. Sweat was gathering in the small of her back and under the two-layered sports bra she was wearing, making her itch. She grabbed the harness resting on the sides of the mats, one that let her batons hang from her hips. Buckles at the waist and then around the middle of both thighs, it held the steel rods flat against her legs until she was ready to draw them.

She noticed Clint coming down the stairs, as well as a gaggle of other agents watching. Well, that was timing. A glance at a nearby clock told her that he was early, but oh well. An audience wasn’t part of her intention for the day, but that wasn’t her concern. She moved into a series of punches and kicks, changing her head space over from dance to something fiercer. Suiting her mood, the random setting on her music set up changed to a harder rock song. Clint leaned against a nearby wall, not saying anything…yet.

At the last few chords, Bobbi was sneaky. Grabbing her batons at her hips in a sleight-of-hand movement Fury had taught her, she had them brought together twisted into one staff, extended to full-length, in a matter of seconds. She didn’t give Clint a chance to prepare or react, instead lunging forward. Purposefully, she tried to push him with the end of the staff directly over his heart, in hopes it would remind him not to leave his _stupid butt_ open.

She was _not happy_ with her former trainer.

Clint had stopped paying attention to Bobbi. Oh, he was aware that the music had changed to something that actually wouldn’t embarrass him to be caught listening to. But she was fine, it was the group of males overhead that he wanted to keep an eye on. Of his girls, Nat could take care of herself, but he wasn’t sure about Bobbi. He’d honestly never seen her with those her own age, except Daniels. And Daniels had said on numerous occasions that he was in no way interested in Bobbi. Probably because he’d spent enough time with her to know better. That got a smirk out of him.

Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head…just in time to catch Bobbi in mid-lunge. He moved away from the wall, to try and avoid the hit, but she’d compensated and there wasn’t time.

It was a hard, bruising hit to his chest that sent him stumbling back.

And even if it hadn’t, the memories it brought up would have.

_You have heart_. The world turning cold as it felt like he was shattered into a million pieces, only to be brought back together again, but different, remade into what someone else had wanted him to be. It had been warmth and heat that had brought him back from that place.

Shaking his head, he found himself on the ground, staring at the ceiling. He scrambled up to his feet, scowling in Bobbi’s general direction. “I don’t remember saying start,” he quipped sarcastically.

She was walking away from him, in the direction of the control panel. The music came to a stop, and she turned to glare at him. “If I’d said that to you when you were my SO, you would have knocked my ass right back down to the ground,” she pointed out. The warmth in her voice was gone. She’d gone cold, and almost sounded like Fury, as terrifying as that thought was.

They both returned to the mat, but before he could comment, she made like she was going to sweep his legs out from underneath him. He stepped back with a snort, opening his mouth to remind her that he was too old for that trick to work twice. And then the other end of the staff rammed itself into his lower torso, forcing him to bend over double and take a step back.

“I’m about to decide you are too stupid to live.” Yep, she was definitely sounding too much like Fury.

“You’re out of line, Morse,” he bit out as he straightened back up. It was time to remind her who had six years on her and a lot more experience.

She dropped to the ground and did another sweep before he had a chance to do anything, this time actually knocking him back down to the ground. Okay, that was enough of that. He lurched up to his feet and made a jab at her shoulder, intending to disarm her and get rid of that advantage of hers.

But she just twisted away from him, slamming the staff right back into his torso…and whacked his butt lightly with the end of the staff on the turn around. “Missed me, missed me,” she teased, unable to help herself. It was such a lovely specimen, and for once he was wearing pants that let her admire it.

Twirling her staff around, she debated her next move. She needed to make sure he got her point before she relaxed about it. The footage she’d finally seen of when the Tesseract was stolen had scared her, making her worry that without her around as much to pick on him, he had been letting his melee go. Her or Red couldn’t guard his back all the time. He had to stay up with his own training. “You’ve been outed as the weak link, Barton. Not Red, not me. You. You were the one who was compromised, and the one that every person coming after SHIELD is going to target first now.”

Not that she thought they would go up against a god any time in the near future. But she was quite desperate to protect Clint, and since that stupid male pride of his, not to mention the nature of their work, wouldn’t let her, she had to get him to do it. She watched him to see if any of her words and the fact _she_ was able to repeatedly knock him down hit home.

“Do I need to keep knocking your feet out from underneath you?” she asked.

Clint’s temper snapped. He’d taken his licks, as his bruised torso was testimony of, now it was time for him to start dealing them. While she thought he was still recovering from her hits, he watched her. As soon as the staff hit the weakest point in its spin for her wrist, he rushed her in a feint attack. While she got out of the way of the hit, he went for what he was really after, grabbing the staff and twisting it beyond what her wrist could take with his superior strength.

The weapon was his now, and seeing as he had taught Bobbi how to use it… He made a swipe at her own legs, not expecting to make contact. Sure enough, she jumped back out of the reach of the swing…and made her balance questionable. He rushed her again, this time pushing her to the mat and pinning her there with her own weapon.

Bobbi gasped as her back hit the mat with a loud _whack_. Damn, he’d thrown his strength _and_ his weight into it. She winced, sure that she was going to have one hell of a bruise. But this was a lot of improvement over him standing around like a defensive lump on a log. Now that he had her chest pinned, he thought he had her. Bad move, with her at least. Most girls would uselessly flail, but her legs were her secondary weapon.

And her mouth was her best distraction. “Good,” she said, grabbing hold of the staff but not trying to out muscle him. “You’re mad. Now you just need to start _thinking.”_ And she brought her legs up, pressing them into his now-sore stomach to leverage him off of her, over her head in a roll. At the same time, she twisted her staff, breaking it back into two batons again and out of his grip. Twisting away from him, she grinned as she knelt on one knee, her other foot already up so she could get up in a hurry if she needed to. “You’re going to have to work harder for that kiss, sport.”

Children’s rhyme, missed her earlier, yada yada yada. Clint was more than used to Bobbi’s bad habit of mocking her opponents no matter the situation. He got back up to his feet, and she copied him, immediately coming in for a swing with one of the batons. Blocking it with his forearm, he brought his other up for a jab at her shoulder. It meant he had to take the hit she sent towards his back with the other baton, but she hissed in pain from his own hit.

“Sparring isn’t the place to be making points, Bobbi,” he told her, twisting her in his hold so she was pinned against his chest. He’d figured out after the first hit what she was up to, trying to get him to be more aware of his openings. If she hadn’t pissed him off to do it, he might have even thanked her for it. But she’d pushed just a little too hard.

She jabbed him with her elbow, forcing him to let her go. “Well, if one of us wouldn’t be so fracking stubborn,” she pointed out, bringing the batons together to form the staff again.

Oh hell. He scowled. That was not going to fly. The batons might be more hits, but she couldn’t put her strength in them as much and using them wore her out faster. If she was going to use that staff as her primary weapon, then not only would he end up with even more bruises, but she might actually manage to outlast him. Only one way to deal with that… “Pot, kettle,” he pointed out, before he lunged for her.

She tried to bring her staff around to block his hit…which was what he wanted. He snagged the staff, though not with a good enough grip to hold it. Instead, it went bouncing off to the side, out of the way. It was just their fists now.

And she was officially in trouble. Bobbi bounced back, raising her arms defensively. Without her staff, he had reach, weight, and strength on her. Not a good combination. She might be able to outlast him in an endurance race, and her speed would keep him from completely slinging her around, but she’d need luck to actually win this. And she really, really wanted to win this. He was grinning smugly, too sure of his win.

Scowling, she brought her right leg up for a roundhouse to his face, and immediately twisted around to bring up the left after it in a surprise hit to his ribs. He ducked, managing to avoid the first, but making him a perfect target for the second. Clint grunted, but snapped his elbow down, trapping her ankle against his side.

Damn it! Bobbi bounced, trying to keep her balance. He was going to be a jerk! Jerking against it would be a lost cause, too. Before she could form a plan, he yanked on her foot, knocking her down to the mat on her side, not letting go of the foot he had caught. She swiped at him with her free foot, trying to get him to back up and give her room to get free.

But no dice. He was on her in a heartbeat, pinning her free leg down with his knee, her shoulders by pushing his forearm across her collarbone. He slid his hand up her ankle to her knee, squeezing it in warning.

And she bit the inside of her lip to keep from whimpering. Without the staff between them, it was harder to remember that this was a spar. She wanted to sink into the mat, or lean forward and kiss him until he _made_ her relax into it… Bobbi swallowed. That kiss to bring him back had made all of this that much harder, but she insisted on him doing some of the chasing. Nope, she had to end this now before she broke. “Alright, I give,” she said quickly. And because she was nervous, her mouth completely ran away from her. “Though are you _really_ going to kiss me, or are you going to let me up?”

Though if he did kiss her, she made no more promises on holding back. _Bad, Bobbi, bad!_ she scolded herself.

Clint swallowed as the anger and adrenaline started to fade…and reminded him exactly what sort of position he was in. And how easy it would be to lean in and capture her lips with his. If you thought about it, he sort of owed her a kiss, didn’t he? He shook his head, her continued mockery helping shake him out of that dangerous mindset. No, one kiss had thrown things off badly enough, no way was he giving her another. He lurched up to his feet, feeling aches and pains settle from their fight. Once he was up, he held out his hand to help her up. “You certainly have the right code name, Morse,” he said with a snort.

She wrinkled her nose, but took the hand up with a sigh. “Well, you’re the one who gave Fury the idea,” she pointed out.

Much to Clint’s confusion. He tilted his head. “How did I give him the idea?” he asked.

“Uh, you kept barking at me to quit mocking Daniels?” she said, tilting it up at the end like a question.

“Because you should learn to be quiet and focus on where your feet are going,” he scolded, reaching over to drape his arm over her shoulders as they walked slowly to the stairs, letting their bodies cool down. He had no sympathy for any smell he might have, since it had been her idea to do this in the first place.

“But being quiet is boring,” she whined, not bothered at all by his arm. She actually just wanted him to touch her. “And you’re one to talk! You sass your opponents as much as I do when you get close enough for them to hear.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but a cleared throat came from overhead. They both turned to see who it was, and Bobbi froze when she saw it was Red. “Morse, your phone is going off in the locker room,” she informed them, her Queen of the World tone in her voice.

Bobbi sighed. It was time of her to go back to work. “Alright, alright,” she grumbled. “I’m going.” Leaning up, she kissed Clint on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, sport. Promise me you won’t just go work on your archery as soon as I’m out of sight?” She danced out from under his arm, making it halfway up the stairs.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Natasha assured Morse as she came down the stairs, making Clint grin. It was nice to see them getting something like fellow agents. No threats, no stares that promised if he wasn’t there, Bobbi would shove Nat over the rail….

“I’m afraid of asking what you have in mind,” he told Nat as he stretched his arm across his torso. “Morse already gave me bruises.”

“Which is sad, since she’s still a greenie,” Nat pointed out, reaching up to poke his abs. “Come on, I can tell you’re stiffening up already. I’ll help you stretch out. Did you warm up before she went after you?”

“I was up at the range,” he protested. That was warming up!

“Maybe if she hadn’t had you extending your reach in every imaginable direction.” Nat rolled her eyes at him, making Clint scowl that much harder. Damn. Both his girls were determined to give him hell today. She knelt down on the mat, and he reluctantly followed her.

Their post-spar routine was one he was well familiar with. He could do it in his sleep. And unlike Morse, both Natasha and him preferred silence except for their breathing or orders to move.

So it was a surprise when she had him on his back, working the aches out, that she said, “So, what was that there at the end with Morse?”

“What?” he said, trying to turn his head to look at her. She grabbed his head and forced it back down on the mat before he hurt himself. “What are you talking about?”

She scoffed, and changed the subject on him, “What is going on with you?”

“Nat, I’m going to repeat myself,” Clint said slowly as he rolled over, letting her pull on his arms to make the muscles strain and then relax back to where they were supposed to be. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Sighing in exasperation, she pinned her hands on either side of his head to stare down at him. “Clint, it’s all over the carrier.” He stiffened, hoping she’d stop. But no, she kept going, “You said Bobbi’s name while having sex with Katelyn.”

He sat up quickly, making her have to move or get a headbutt. Clint leaned forward, resting his elbows on his raised knees and rubbing the back of his head furiously. “You only know the half of it,” he grumbled.

And damn her bat ears, she heard him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cringing, he raised his shoulders up out of reflex. Normally, he wouldn’t talk about this to a soul. But damn it, he was fixated and he had no idea how it happened. And Nat was the only person he had near the comfort level of talking to about this at this point in his life. “I… She…” he fumbled for the words, finally just having to go crass or else he’d never be able to say it. “I had to think of her as Bobbi in order to get off.”

He didn’t dare look at her to see her face. Not until she touched his shoulder, careful but still Nat. “Was it the way she undid what the Tesseract did to you?” she asked, serious and intense. “Did it throw something off? Make you focus on her?”

Unfortunately, Clint had already thought of that and ruled it out. “No,” he said reluctantly. “At least, not in that way.” He didn’t know how to explain it. If Nat had kissed him, it would have been over and done with. When they’d first met, he’d flirted…like he flirted with almost anything female. But they’d eventually settled into this, partners and friends but there was nothing there in their future, and he knew it.

He’d thought Bobbi had been the same, but now that had all been screwed up.

“I’ll get a handle on it,” he promised. “Before our next mission.”

She nodded, at least believing him on that front, and they went back to their silence, her helping him stretch out and then to build on what Bobbi had already hammered into his head.D


	11. And It All Comes Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is an ass. One with really, really bad timing.

Bobbi closed the room to her small room with a relieved sigh, almost able to see the steam rising from her skin. She’d needed an almost boiling hot shower after that short mission, feeling dirty beneath the skin. But it was done, and she’d gotten some much needed information. She pushed it out of her mind, not wanting to think about it anymore.

It had taken most of the day, and she hadn’t seen Clint since, making her bite her lower lip just thinking about it. It was probably for the better, actually. Her feelings were stung for being dropped in a flash for Red, like Bobbi was a suitable substitute, if only for a time.

And it was rubbing salt on the fact that he had looked so tempted by her, for a moment. Just a second, she had thought he might kiss her and then all bets would have been off. She sat down on her bed, not bothering with pajamas tonight as she was two steps up from sulking.

She just…didn’t know what she was doing, not really. It hadn’t been an _issue_ until she’d met Clint, and suddenly she was attracted to a male for the first time. Her mother had given her the sex talk when she was fifteen, and this sudden infatuation (that had since grown way out of hand) had gotten her to at least start poking her nose in the romance section and trying to figure things out. She wasn’t as embarrassed about it as she had been at the beginning, she just…wasn’t quite where it seemed other women were. This is where having close girl friends would have been handy, but she had as many of those as she did ex-boyfriends. A whole lot of zip.

With a sigh, she grabbed her sheet and wrapped it around her torso, rolling over on her side. She held one pillow to her chest, kicking her legs over the side of the bed. This was getting way ahead of herself anyway. First, she had to get him to want sex with her, and hopefully more than that. Bobbi could tell she was closer, she just wasn’t sure what had changed the status quo so she could push forward with it… Her eyes slid shut as her mind twisted around, trying to figure it out, but too exhausted so she had to fall asleep.

*****

A couple months later, Clint double checked the pile of weaponry he normally had with him on a mission, trying to figure out what to pare down. The idea behind this mission was stealth, which meant the less he had on him to clatter around, the better. Natasha was going to be the distraction for him, so ideally he wouldn’t need weapons at all. But that would be stupidity incarnate.

His watch flashed and beeped at him. He held it up and the screen read that there had been an update to his mission assignment. That was not good. He was supposed to be _leaving_ in less than an hour. He grabbed a nearby tablet to pull up the assignment, scrolling the details.

And froze.

He reread it, sure that it was a typo somewhere or a mix up of reports. But no, someone had changed the entire parameters of the mission. Clint could have broken something, and quickly dropped the tablet down on the armory table before it became the target of his frustration. Of all the missions Fury had to assign his pet to keep an eye on him, it had to be the one that was supposed to shut the Council up about his return to elite status? No, he wasn’t going to stand for this. He stalked out of the room and down the carrier for the director’s primary office when the carrier was in the water like it was right now.

Hill almost stepped into his path when he crossed the opening space, but he quickly averted her, stalking right into Fury’s office with only a cursory knock on the door. For his part, Fury looked up from the screen on his desk, his gaze patient but also tense. He wasn’t surprised to see Clint, but he wasn’t going to put up with much of Clint’s usual lip.

He went for the simple way of explaining it. Standing at military at-ease, he tilted his chin up stubbornly. “Sir, there appears to be some sort of mix-up with my next mission.”

“Really?” Fury said in disbelief, and shifted something around on the touchscreen that made up the surface of his desk. “It looks like everything is in order to me.”

“My partner is Agent Romanoff,” Clint argued. “Not Morse.”

“Romanoff is too distinctive,” Fury countered immediately. “The target of your op will know instantly that something is going on if he sees her. Whereas Morse has a less distinctive appearance, and she is already known in these circles under another alias. One you’ve helped her with too, according to her mission reports.”

“If Natasha stands out, why were we even assigned this op?”

Fury glanced over his shoulder at Hill, who had turned her back on the pair of them, moving some files around and then carrying them out of the room rather than get Clint’s anger redirected at her. That still didn’t explain everything to him. Fury normally would have left that sort of detail alone, let Clint and Nat figure out the best way to deal with it. Not interfere when it was so close to set off time.

He smelled the hand of Bobbi.

“Did Morse ask for this?” he demanded. If so, he was going to go cheerfully strangle her.

Fury snorted. “Considering the rather scathing e-mail she sent back to her alert to the new mission, that is a no. She did not.”

He wasn’t the only one frustrated by this then, good. He was just the only one being vocal about it. “Then why?” Clint demanded in frustration.

“Let me flip that around on you and ask, why not?” Fury said, crossing his arms. “Name one valid reason why Morse is less qualified for this mission than Romanoff.”

Uh oh. That smelled like a trap, since Fury had trained Morse himself. Clint was going to have to pick his qualms carefully or else he’d get Fury really coming after him. “Her experience—” he started with the easiest fault.

“Is in undercover work,” Fury pointed out. “In fact, she might be better than Romanoff in that regard. Speak frankly, Barton, or get out of my office.”

_Right, Barton. Remember what unit she’s with_ , he scolded himself. He ran his hand over his head, trying to articulate why this was frustrating him so much. Normally, he didn’t mind when Bobbi got orders to tag along with him and Nat. But this was too important. It decided whether he got his elite status back or if he had to wait even longer. He couldn’t afford…

“I can’t afford to have some green agent bungle this for me,” he gritted out. “She isn’t used to missions of this level, sir, and if she makes a mistake, it’ll have serious consequences on both our careers.” Specifically his, but he wasn’t going to mention that. “Not to mention it could get either of us killed. She’s just a kid!”

Fury gave him this look that said he thought Clint was selling him shit. But before he said anything, he jerked his head to the side, looking like he’d heard something. Unfortunately, it was to Clint’s right, and his hearing aid wasn’t perfect. He turned his head, hoping the sound would be repeated and he could hear it.

The director didn’t need to hear it again, though. He strode forward and hit a panel, making a side door open. Clint followed, just in case it was someone where they shouldn’t be. Especially since they had been eavesdropping.

He stumbled to a stop when he saw who it was.

Bobbi was numb. Or she was trying to tell herself she was that way. It certainly was a better option than feeling like something was sitting on her chest, putting painful pressure on her heart and lungs. Vaguely, she realized her cheeks were wet, suggesting she was crying even though she couldn’t feel it.

She’d thought they were making progress, at last, even with the last two months where they had been ships passing in the night. Four years of waiting, and it seemed like he was finally seeing her as something other than the trainee he got saddled with for six months. She’d pushed and pushed so hard to be a good agent, not only because she wanted to see the right things being done in this world, but because she wanted him to understand that she had taken his lessons to heart, that she was serious about what SHIELD stood for and what he made part of his own character so strongly.

And he thought she was green. That she couldn’t handle danger, at least of his level. That she was a _child._ God, she was twenty-four, and he thought she couldn’t handle herself. Why? How could he still think that?

Nothing she did was going to be good enough, was it?

The door beside her opened, making her jump. Shit. She’d forgotten where she was. Fury looked at her with pity in his eye, but she didn’t want it. Bobbi wiped at her eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Especially when she saw Clint—no, saw Barton standing behind him. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I was just wanting to go over details of the new mission.” Mostly, she had wanted to ream him out for shoving her anywhere near Salazar and his nest of vipers, but that wasn’t important now. “It can wait. I need to go arrange for Barton’s dress uniform and find someone to help me get ready on short notice.”

She turned and walked—not ran, but walked, just very quickly—in the right direction she needed. There were a handful of details to arrange, and they would distract her from her upset until she had time to process it.

For his part, Clint cringed as Fury leveled a look at him and said tensely, “Dismissed, Agent.”

He walked away at a much slower pace than he’d arrived, his gut in knots. Not once in the time he’d known Bobbi had he seen her cry, for real. In training if she had gotten hurt, she’d just sworn crassly until the pain had dulled. Phil had been her first casualty, only it hadn’t been a real one, so there had been no tears. Nothing had ever phased her.

Until he was an ass and opened his damn mouth. Damn, damn, _damn._

******

Grimacing, Clint stood still as he let Daniels adjust his uniform. He hated this, all of it. He wanted to go back to his breaking and entering plan while everyone was staring at Nat, in and out, no one is hurt, none the wiser he was even there. Not undercover as Chris Martin, again. Especially when he’d managed to make Bobbi cry, even if the reason why wasn’t quite clear to him. He hadn’t been kind, but surely it hadn’t been tears level…

If Daniels knew about his infraction, the younger man didn’t show it. He just frowned and muttered, making sure everything was right for Clint before he adjusted his own tie. Apparently he was picking up his old role of the Martins’ driver, and was at least on casual speaking terms with Bobbi again. All they were doing was waiting on the lady herself.

The tap of heels on the steel flooring caught their attention. Clint turned to look, and swallowed thickly, almost feeling like not only was there no way that was the girl who had just kicked him all over the mats a couple months ago…but there was no way he should be seen with her. She was far too classy for the likes of some boy off a farm in Idaho.

Her dress was a muted red, and looked like a bunch of bandages sewed together in horizontal stripes. It clung to her down to her legs before it flared out, though it crisscrossed over her breasts to form a dip to accent her cleavage. Bobbi had twisted her hair up somehow into a knot at the base of her neck with small braids threaded through it, making her neck look long and swan-like. Ruby red lips weren’t pulled back in her usual smile, but instead quite serious, and she’d hidden her freckles again. Glancing down her legs, he saw the flash of silver on her feet, some sort of strappy things that matched the clutch she had tucked into the crook of her elbow.

She looked beautiful. And that scared the hell out of him. It was one thing to be attracted to her sexually, she was female, it was all instinct. It was another thing to realize that his Bobbi was beautiful as a woman. That implied a whole different kind of attraction, one he’d spent most of his adult life avoiding.

Stalking up the ramp, she looked him up and down, and gave an approving nod…but no smile. She was definitely past tears and on to pissed. Bobbi opened her mouth, obviously intent on some snarky comment.

Daniels walked over and pressed something into one of her hands.

Glancing down, she looked up in Daniels with her upper lip curling in disgust. “Oh, no way in _hell,”_ she snarled. Clint looked down too and was confused. It looked like some sort of wireless headphones.

Brave man that he was, Daniels just raised both his brows back at her. “Can you honestly fly in those shoes?” When she opened her mouth, he held up a finger, “And if you take them off, I am not playing Prince Charming to your Cinderella and helping you put them back on and neither is Barton.”

He wasn’t? Clint snapped his mouth shut. No, no he wasn’t because touching Bobbi right now would be _bad._

She made a tea-kettle noise in frustration, and threw herself into one of the jets side chairs like a huffy diva (which she was disguised as), crossing her arms and legs both but reluctantly putting the earbuds in where they wouldn’t mess up her hair. Clint wisely decided it was dangerous for him to stay in the cabin with her, so he joined Daniels up front, since this was a two-seater style jet.

Daniels looked at him and gave a small smile. “Hiding?” he asked, speaking at just the right pitch to be heard by Clint and yet not be overheard by Bobbi over whatever was playing on those earpieces.

“You are a brave man to ban her from the cockpit,” Clint dryly said.

That got a chuckle out of Daniels. “Not as brave as you,” he said. “I know Bobbi’s resting-bitch face, and that’s it.” Clint cringed. “Do you even know what you did?”

“Not a clue,” Clint said with a sigh. “I mean, I know I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it, but I’m not sure what set her off this badly.”

Daniels hummed, which set Clint’s nerves on edge. Why did he think Morse’s partner knew exactly what was going on, but wasn’t going to say anything? Never mind, he knew why. Same reason he wouldn’t say things when Natasha was concerned. Partners watched each other’s backs…and kept each other’s secrets.

The rest of the flight was silent. Bobbi realized before Clint did that Daniels was coming in for a landing. She was out of her seat and down the ramp before he could get twisted around. He shared a baffled look with Daniels, and the two men scrambled to follow her.

She was standing outside on the pavement, near the town car that Daniels would be driving them in…and a little sporty coup, where another woman was standing, eyeing Bobbi critically. She was a brunette with trendy glasses and a fashion-conscious outfit that accented her shape, and she was toddling around on ridiculously high heels.

As he got closer, Clint realized she was _actually_ threatening Bobbi. “I swear, if even one diamond turns up missing, Morse…” she trailed off, reluctantly getting a blue velvet case out of the front seat of her car.

“Breathe, Clarice,” Bobbi said in amusement, reaching out and pulling out a long string of diamonds from the case that made Clint cringe. They not only formed a solid line along her collarbone, but also fanned out in the front, with a single pear-shape one to complete the point. She wrapped it around her neck, able to fasten the clasp with ease. “You know I’ll bring them back in the same condition you loan them.”

“You had better!” Clarice said, adjusting her glasses. She handed Bobbi the matching earrings one at a time, fretting until the chandeliers were safely in place, and then a ring which Bobbi slipped on to her right hand, creating a mirror with her Bella wedding ring. “I know you wouldn’t call in that favor out of something minor, but… Seriously, Bobbi, that’s a small fortune in diamonds, not to mention the sentimental value.”

Bobbi gave Clarice a hug, startling the brunette into being quiet. “I promise, they will be back in your care first thing in the morning,” she said. “If not tonight. Give the case to Daniels and I’ll have him bring them back.”

Clarice looked over Bobbi’s shoulder, and Clint snickered at the gleam that crossed her eyes when she caught sight of Daniels, who fidgeted. “Do I get to borrow him?” the brunette asked.

“You’ll owe me another favor.”

“Bobbi,” Clarice whined, but bit her lower lip. “I’ll have to think about whether it’s worth it.” Daniels gulped, but took the case when Clarice offered it to him. Clint could tell he was being extra careful not to so much as brush fingers with her, making Clint want to laugh.

One look at Bobbi’s expression cut that off. With the diamonds, she had transformed further into an icy socialite. And they had to act like a couple this evening to infiltrate a black market gun dealer’s big party to celebrate his birthday. While giving Clint time to go digging to find out where his next shipment was going and who to, what of if he could. Without getting caught.

_This was going to be fun,_ he thought sarcastically, helping Bobbi into the backseat of the town car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot more to that beginning scene, but it seemed...sex just for sex? So I removed it. Almost cut the whole scene, except there are some important Bobbi feels that will be relevant in the next story that sort of need mentioned.


	12. Back from the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint continues to stick his foot in his mouth, while Bobbi slips. Oh, and Alys. Just peachy.

Bobbi laughed the airy, breathless laugh of Bella Martin and used it as a distraction to slip the tablet into her drink that nullified the effects of alcohol. Taking a sip of the now-non-alcoholic champagne, she listened to the gossip of the women around her. They’d used the name of “Bella’s” father to get in, a politician out of Connecticut…who also had former SHIELD ties, but they were so far back in his history, no one knew about them. It was the elite of Miami society, along with various out-of-town guests.

She suspected most of them were here to be making some backroom deals. Ones that Clint could be overhearing, if it wasn’t taking his sweet time poking around in the office. The women here had at least heard of Bella and were eager enough for the latest gossip from the northeast. In return, Bobbi was getting information she didn’t really need about Florida’s social scene, but all in the name of cover…

“So Bella, where is that husband of yours?” one of the wives asked, a mischievous look on her face. “It’s not often we get such fine military eye candy to look at.”

Forcing herself to giggle, Bobbi took a sip of the champagne to cover her “embarrassment” as some of the other women laughed. “He stepped away for a second,” she apologized with a wrinkle of her nose. “Though if I find out he’s been smoking, I’ll kick him to the couch tonight.”

A warm hand brushed her elbow, and she forced herself not to tense up. Turning her head, she just caught sight of Clint before he brushed his lips against her bare shoulder, taking one of her hands in his. “I behaved,” he said with a crooked smile, one that still made her knees weak despite how angry she was with him. “Darling, can I steal you away?”

“Of course,” she said with an apologetic smile at the other women. There were a few winks and waved hands, forgiving her for walking away. Twisting around, Bobbi hooked her free hand through Clint’s arm, letting him lead her away. She took care to be on the left side of him, just in case.

“Should you be drinking that?” he asked.

Barely, she kept the smile on her face. He really did think she was green if he thought she would drink on the job. “It’s not alcoholic anymore, Barton,” she said between her teeth. “And I resent you feeling the need to check in on me.”

He glanced down at her. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Did you get the scans of the files?” she interrupted, looking up at him out of the corner of her eyes as she set her drink somewhere where it would be picked up, carefully wiping it of prints first. “You took too long.” He stiffened next to her, and she looked at him more fully. “What?” she asked.

Barton glanced around, and he pulled her in the direction of the dance floor. She narrowed her eyes, but let him pull her into a waltz hold. She had to keep reminding herself to let him lead, and not get distracted by the width of his shoulders or the strength of his arm around her waist. “Barton, talk,” she whispered, keeping her expression suitably soft.

Now if only he would do the same… Tension lined his face, subtle but present. “They weren’t there, or in the secondary locations,” he told her quietly.

Bobbi mouthed a swear word and then pressed her lips together. “Fury warned you that Salazar had eyes on SHIELD. Not very good ones, but enough to keep him out of trouble,” she reminded him.

“What do we do?” he asked, spinning her out of his arms and then bringing her back in close again.

She laughed Bella’s laugh, but some of her own anger was reflected in it. “We?” she repeated. She narrowed her eyes at him in a glare. “You’ve had four years to be ‘we.’ We is now you and you is _screwed.”_ This op was going to be a bust at this point, and Clint’s ass was on the line, not hers.

He gapped at her, and her eyes widened as she realized exactly what she had just implied, and for once he had figured it out. Damn it. Bobbi quickly averted her eyes, scanning the crowd lingering on the edges of the ballroom.

“Bobbi, what does that mean?” he asked her in a hiss.

“You’re about to come back empty handed, that’s what I mean,” she said.

“Not that part.” His hand tightened on her hip. “Four years?”

She ignored him, since she was trying to cut the strings he had on her, not give him knowledge that they were there. Movement caught her eyes, a woman leaning into whisper something in her date’s ear.

The man, she recognized instantly. Rio, Salazar’s right hand. Big, strong, intimidating…and often used that to disguise the fact he was a smart cookie too. Most people were big on under estimating him. The woman on his arm had been identified as a cousin of Salazar, brought in after the death of his sister Alys to supposedly help with managing the house and family.

Of course, Alys had actually secretly been Salazar’s left hand, an elite assassin just as good as Red but severely lacking in morals.

This was the first good look Bobbi had gotten at the cousin, and she wanted to memorize the woman’s face.

Clint was in shock, just working on maintaining his cover. The implications of what Bobbi had just said… Four years? But, but they had just been friends… Unless she was being subtle and trying to get him to chase her… Like would be typical Bobbi… He gritted his teeth, trying to force his thoughts to focus on the mission. He had to get something, or else his elite status was shot, the Council would be sure of it.

Bobbi stiffened in his arms, ducking her head down in a way that wasn’t typical of her. He looked down at her. “What is it, Morse?” he asked.

“Woman next to Rio,” she said. “Recognize her from the files?”

He looked, turning her in the dance so the angle was better. “The new cousin, isn’t she?” he said. “Wish we had a better camera to get a real picture.”

“Is there a scar on her neck?”

“What?”

Bobbi hissed in frustration and then said slowly, “Is there a long scar on her neck, going from under her left ear and down to her collarbone?”

He looked, and could see the scar she was talking about...sort of. Her dress came up too high on her throat to confirm it went as far as Bobbi said.  “Yes.” The woman turned enough he could see her back, the dress cut so it was bare. “And another on her left shoulder, not as long.”

“Damn it.” Bobbi leaned her head forward, against his chest.

It started him into stopping, reaching up out of reflex to rest a hand on the back of her head. “Morse?” he asked, quietly. Around them, some of the other couples stopped to look.

“I need out of here,” she breathed. “Now. Act like I’m not feeling well.”

He stiffened, relieved to finally have something he could do. “Alright, Bella,” he said, no longer trying to keep his voice down but the tone soothing. “Let’s get you home…” he changed his hold so his arm was around her shoulders and back, leading her away. She kept her face turned towards his like the light was bothering her, suggesting a migraine.

At the front door, the coat man made appropriate noises and quickly fetched Bobbi’s purse, sending another staff member to get Daniels and the car. Bobbi leaned into his hold and made soft whiney sounds like she was really in pain…except Clint knew she would rather swear first. He rubbed her back anyway, making soothing sounds and kissing her forehead. He started pulling pins out of her hair and slipping them into his pocket, loosening the whole thing so it would put less pressure on her head.

The staff returned and ushered them out to the waiting car. Bobbi slid in first and he followed behind her. Daniels glanced up at them, but pulled out of the drive of the Miami hotel before he flipped a switch.

A screen raised on the dash between the front seats, and Fury’s face appeared. “Either of you want to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded. “You’re going to make waves, pulling out early.”

Clint figured honesty was the best policy, even if it put him over a barrel. “The files weren’t there, sir. They’d been moved.”

Fury closed his eye to suppress his annoyance over the news, but said, “You still should have waited.”

“Sir, remember that cousin that’s come out of the woodwork that we can’t get much on?” Bobbi butted in, saving Clint from himself, or so he thought.

“What of it?”

“It’s Alys, sir.”

That made Clint jump and Fury stare at her. “Alys is dead, Morse,” Clint said quietly.

“They buried the body too fast for us to confirm that,” she said, eyes glittering. “And I’ve never met that cousin, but she’s got scars from my knives. Barton confirmed.”

Wait, what? Clint gave her a baffled look. What the hell was she doing getting close enough to an assassin that she could get her knives into her? Bobbi was supposed to be a spy, and one with barely four years under her belt at that!

Fury swore, and rubbed his face. “I’ll take your word on that, Morse,” he said. “You’re the one who got between her and the target in the first place that broke her innocent civilian cover.” Clint sputtered at that news. That was only two years ago!

Daniels started swearing from up front, and pitched his voice to be heard. “We’ve got a tail.”

“I’ll send an address to the car’s GPS,” Fury said. “Hotel, it’ll show the Martins had a reservation for the last week and it’s good for the weekend. I’ll get a team in to sweep and make it look like you’ve already dropped personal effects off. Just take your time and don’t try to lose them.”

“This is probably just Alys being cautious,” Bobbi said. “Once she sees us in a hotel, she’ll probably let off.”

“Or this whole thing was a trap to get revenge on you, Morse. Romanoff agrees that Alys is going to be pissed at you beyond all reason,” Fury said. “I want you to hunker down for the night, act like you’re going to the beach or something touristy to meet with a rendezvous back to the carrier in the morning provided you are out from being watched.”

A trill came from front of the car. “Address received,” Daniels said.

“I’ll contact you in the morning. Stay safe,” Fury said and the screen went black before going back undercover.

“Daniels, throw me the jewelry case,” she said with a sigh. “You’ll really have to give these back to Clarice for me. Sorry.”

“You aren’t sorry at all,” he griped, but threw the case back over. Bobbi managed to snicker and started to take out the jewelry, putting it in the places set for them in the blue velvet. “Who is she, anyway?” Daniels asked, and Clint heard the bit of curiosity in his tone. Uh oh, the boy might be doomed.

“Year mate from Georgia Tech,” Bobbi said absently. “We got our bachelors at the same time, and she’s working with a lab here while she’s getting her doctorate. I’m supposed to sit on her committee.” She paused and added, “Her Southern Belle mother is about as appalled as my grandmother was, which is why the diamonds are a big deal. Daddy’s silent way of saying he supports her still. If she hits a hard spot financially, she could sell those easily, and until then, she had a reminder of his love.”

“A cold one,” Daniels grumbled.

“Some of us take what we can get,” Bobbi pointed out with a scowl.

Which sparked all sorts of uncomfortable realizations on Clint’s part, making him wince. He wasn’t about to talk to Bobbi about that sort of stuff in front of Daniels either. The ride to the hotel was silent…until Bobbi leaned forward to look at something. She frowned when she relaxed back in her seat and tugged at her hair, loosening some strands so they framed her face.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

“Bella Martin has never had a migraine in her life,” Bobbi said factually, then made a face. “So that means we faked that to get out early. And why would a couple still in the honeymoon phase fake getting out of a big party early?”

Clint swallowed. Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. And a kiss had screwed this whole thing up in the first place, he didn’t want to know what a series of them would do.

Except, it had been screwed up since the beginning, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to use one of my favorite lines from Big Bang Theory, where Penny shoots a bunch of paintball darts at Sheldon's spot on the sofa and Leonard tries to help...tries...


	13. Hashing It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi is really good at sneaking into places she doesn't belong while looking like she does. And a conversation four years in the making.

She leaned down and did something with one of her shoes, he couldn’t see what. Clint tried to ignore the way it made her body contort. “Bobbi, I don’t think…” he started to say, only to cut himself off as suddenly she swung her legs into his lap, bringing his head down towards hers. He grabbed her hip with one hand, her shoulder with another.

But she didn’t kiss him. Instead, she had her head tilted to the side, listening for something. Instead, he was the one trying not to lean forward and steal her breath away. He held himself back with iron will, distracting himself by stroking the skin of her bare shoulder. Clint didn’t want to kiss her until they had a chance to talk.

The car slid to a halt, and the door of the car swung open behind him, making him and Bobbi both jump, though he could tell she was faking it. Twisting his head, he saw that the doorman was blinking and then turning away so he wasn’t staring. Bobbi gave a fake giggle, and he cleared his throat, realizing what she’d done now. He quickly got out of the backseat of the car, helping her out as well and walking with her into the lobby.

It was distracting when she kept turning her head up him, running her hands over his chest and fiddling with the front of the uniform jacket. He knew it was an act, just a way to keep cameras from seeing her face. It didn’t make it any easier for him to remember that talk had to happen first.

They got into the elevator, and Bobbi immediately hit the button for the penthouse. He saw a flashing light out of the corner of his eye, so he quickly crowded her, hiding her entirely behind the broadness of his back. He clenched and unclenched his hand to make it look like they were distracted in each other, but the reality is she was refusing to look at him, her eyes on their feet. “How will we get in without a key?” he asked quietly.

“I am not carrying this stupid clutch to look cute,” she hissed. She grimaced and glanced up, towards the floor count he guessed. “I’ll have to stop and take off the shoe I just broke, that’ll keep my head down while we pass the hall camera.”

He couldn’t nod without it looking strange on the camera. “Alright,” he said. “Why did Alys see your face in the first place?”

“Because we didn’t know she was an assassin at the time,” Bobbi reminded him. “And I doubt the wig and glasses I was wearing will keep her from recognizing me as a blonde.” The doors let off a bell-like chime before they opened to the right floor. “All the way to the end,” she prompted him, even as she did what she said she was going to do on the way out, giggling and ducking to take off her broken shoe.

He smirked at her, but she could see the worry in his eyes. Clint knew how dangerous this had suddenly gotten, especially if Fury was right and the whole thing had been a trap in the first place. There had always been a threat of danger, if he’d gotten caught or someone they had slipped and they had been found out as SHIELD agents. But an assassin with a personal vendetta was worse. Way worse.

They reached the penthouse door, and Bobbi dug in the clutch for the hack card she kept there for emergencies. She slid it into the lock, watching impatiently as the lights blinked across the surface of the card. Behind her, Clint grabbed her hips and nuzzled her neck, acting the part of a distracting husband while the wife tried to find the key. She took deep breaths in through her nose, trying not to react. But it was hard, she was physically attracted to him still.

At last, it trilled, recognizing the hack card for the right key even if it wasn’t. She bumped the door open with her hip, letting Clint follow her in. A glance to the side as she deadbolted the door proved that the windows were still uncovered…and since they made up an entire wall of the place, that was all manners of bad.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping up the act since she had no idea if there were watchers on the roofs of the nearby building. “Why don’t you take care of the windows while I change?” she asked, pressing her chest into the hard planes of his. Her fingers started teasing the skin at the back of his neck without thinking about it. “So we can quit acting like this?”

His arm behind her back flexed as he dragged her tighter against his body, and her eyes widened as she felt him react to her. “Agreed,” he said. He leaned forward, his lips almost brushing against hers. “Since you have some explaining to do.”

“You wish,” she bit out. He huffed to show what he thought of that, and let her go, stalking in the direction of the windows. On the way, he shrugged out of his jacket and the button-up shirt underneath them, casually dropping them on the chairs as he walked past. She bit her lower lip, hard, as the muscles of his shoulders flexed when he moved. His undershirt just highlighted the cut of his back, made that way by so many hours pulling back a hundred-pound-draw bow.

Distraction. Distraction now.

The penthouse was laid out with a sitting area in the front, the bedroom flowing into it, with the bathroom tucked into the corner. It was all done in white with various textures to contrast the steel furniture and the darkly stained floors.

Bobbi had to follow him to reach the dressers where she hoped clothes had been stashed. Opening the top drawer gave her items she would bet the under-agent assigned to this alias had grabbed and sent in a hurry. She grabbed the first things she saw, and snagged the button up shirt Clint had abandoned on her way into the suite bathroom.

Now in a temporary sanctuary, she saw that someone had even laid out the cosmetics Bobbi had used to get ready back on the carrier, along with two toothbrushes and various odds and ends that a couple would bring on a weekend trip. Shaking her head, Bobbi raised her estimation of her quasi-assistant and made a mental note to mention her in the report as having done a good job under bad circumstances.

The dress took a lot of wiggling to get out of, and she all-too-gladly threw it on the hanger in the bathroom closet. The uncomfortable undergarments followed, since she had no intention of sleeping in them either. Bobbi made a face as she slid on the satin slip, tugging at it like it would miraculously turn into something she’d wear to bed if she had to wear something at all. There was no helping that the stupid little straps were meant to slide down off the shoulders rather than keep it up, and the high slit up to her hip bore more of her thigh than she was comfortable with for a man she wasn’t sure she wanted to show it to anymore.

And thus, why she’d stolen his shirt. It was too big on her frame, making her have to roll the sleeves up, but at least it pretended to give her more coverage…even if the navy of the gown stood out underneath it. She tried to ignore it and focused on getting her face clean of this stupid make-up and her hair free of its constraints. The longer she spent in the bathroom, the more she could put off the conversation Clint wanted to have…though it couldn’t last forever.

A dig through the drawers gave Clint some lounge pants and a shirt to put on once he got the windows secured from anything short of infrared—and he hoped to God that didn’t turn into a concern. He circled the seating room in the front, investigating the couch. It didn’t look long enough for him, but he wasn’t about to make Bobbi give up the bed.

The bathroom door opened, and the devil herself came out. Clint’s eyes widened as his mind stuttered to a halt. Gone was the make-up hiding her freckles and painting her mouth red, and her hair was down and in its half-wild waves again. It was a lot more natural, more her. But that wasn’t what made him stop breathing, nor was the silky little blue scrap of _nothing_ that was pretending to be a nightgown.

She was in his shirt, wearing it like a robe.

It was a possessive statement that made his blood boil and completely confused him at the same time. Okay, time to get some damn answers out of her. He watched as she sat on the edge of the bed, pointedly not looking at him. “Four years?” he pressed.

She cringed a little, but finally glared at him. “Just a kid?” she spat back, crossing her arms.

“You are taking that completely the wrong way,” he said, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “I just meant…” Words failed him.

She snorted, showing what she thought of his inability to express himself.

Damn it. He walked over to her, reaching out grab her hand. She stiffened and leaned away from him, making it feel like a stone had dropped in his stomach. She hadn’t pulled away from him. Ever. Swallowing, he pulled back as well and started pacing. “I didn’t know Fury was throwing you into ops like this,” he said. “I thought he was keeping you safe.”

“Yes, because I’ve been trained to be kept wrapped up in cotton and kept out of sight,” she said in disgust. “Hell, you started that training, Clint!”

“Yeah, and then I hardly ever see you,” he said. “I don’t know anything about the espionage division!”

“Not my fault!” she argued. “You should have trusted me!”

“I know,” he snapped, and then stopped in front of her. “Bobbi, I know. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t handle yourself at all. I just…” He sighed, hopefully finding the right words this time. “The weight on this mission got to me.”

“So you were an ass.” Her lower lip quivered, but she still glared at him. “And drug me through the mud to our _boss.”_

He winced. “Fury didn’t believe me anyway.”

“That isn’t the point!” she exploded, gesturing widely in her frustration. “God, Clint! What if he had? What if you had finished my training instead and he didn’t know me from Eve outside of mission reports? Do you realize what that would have done to my career?”

She would have been screwed. Completely. Fury might have even let her go, burned her from other agencies taking her on. And Clint wasn’t that stupid. He knew how much of her time and emotions Bobbi had devoted to SHIELD. It would kill her to be cut off. Clint swallowed. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“Damn right, you weren’t thinking!” Bobbi crossed her legs, one foot bouncing in suppressed energy. She’d be up and pacing with him, he was sure, except then they might actually start slugging it out. Fury would have their hide if he had to pay for damages to the hotel. “And if you didn’t trust me as an agent, obviously, then you should have fracking well trusted me as your friend! I’d never screw you over like that. Ever.”

“I know,” he said, cringing. Bobbi’s fierce loyalty was well-documented now. “I mean, for pity’s sake, Morse, you defied orders and took on a god to make sure I was alright. Then went into an invasion to guard my back despite being hurt. No one can ask for a better friend than that.”

She sniffed, mollified slightly, but obviously still upset at him. “Well, obviously they could, since you thought it.”

“It had nothing to do with our friendship,” he shot at her. “Would you quit taking this so damn _personal?”_

“You started it.” Her eyes narrowed at him in a glare again. “You thought I’d ask to get moved on to a new mission with only an hour until it started. Really? How petty do you think I am?”

He gritted his teeth. Now she was just being ridiculous. “I wasn’t thinking, just reacting. I’m an ass, remember?” She snorted, and he thought they could finally get past that part of her argument. “And I do trust you as an agent—”

“Sell that shit elsewhere,” she snapped.

“Damn it, Bobbi,” he said, slamming his hand against a nearby wall, using the palm instead of the knuckles so he wouldn’t damage anything. “I trained you. I know you can handle yourself in a fight. I didn’t know you were already prepared for situations like tonight.” He scowled. “I didn’t know a lot of things apparently.”

Bobbi had the decency to flush at that, looking away from him. If she was startled by his surge of temper, she didn’t show it. “I’m a big girl, Clint,” she said softly. “You just refuse to see it.”

Right. He calmed some, and gladly moved on to her issue. He reached for her hand again, and this time she let him take it. “Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked in disbelief. He couldn’t do anything if he didn’t know!

That flush grew darker. “I am not one of your flock of admirers,” she grumbled. “Chasing you is beneath my dignity.”

“First I heard of you having dignity,” he quipped, which got a little bit of a smile out of her. But it made sense. She wanted to be the one pursued, but he… He’d been too blinded by the fact she was his trainee and then his friend to see it. He shook his head. Four years. “Why didn’t you find another guy if I was taking so long?”

“I’m going to introduce you to the idea of alternative sexual identities eventually,” she muttered. He snorted at her, and she waved her free hand to avoid the old, tired argument between them. “I’m demisexual, which in layman’s terms is I don’t feel much of anything for anybody until there’s some sort of relationship already there.” She sighed, letting go of his hand and flopping down on the bed. “Most boys have always ignored me, mostly because I was either jailbait or the freaky upper classman who was younger than them. And I never cared before either. Hell, I kinda encouraged it. Like I said, there has to be a relationship there first, and not a lot of people take the time to do that.”

“Except with me, it happened,” he said slowly, unable to stop himself from looking down at her, taking her in with a bit of hunger. That was cheating, damn it. He needed to be paying attention to what she was saying, not wanting to pin her to the mattress. This was too important. He’d made her cry once, and he was _not_ going to repeat it. Hell, he wanted to make up for it!

What she was saying sort of rang bells with something Coulson had said once, about how Bobbi tended to cling to emotional bonds once she made them, though she also struggled a bit with it for some reason. He hadn’t known it would go _this far,_ and he didn’t understand why she fought over getting them.

“Why?” he asked. “Why encourage them to look past you and not me?”

She crossed her arms around her abdomen, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t know specifics,” she hedged. “I mean, you had my attention when we first met, in that okay, he’s cute and he’s fun as hell to harass. But then you just… kept ahead of me. And you know me.” He did. She was the definition of high energy. Physically and mentally, she was also going, always turning.

“I think you’ve caught up a bit,” he pointed out dryly. He sometimes felt like he was the one behind her. He was just a country boy at heart, after all.

Bobbi snorted. “I don’t have to slow down for you,” she finally said with a sigh. “And you put up with all my stupid quirks, and don’t care if I’m better than you at some things and suck at others.” She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded, and licked her lower lip briefly. “And did I mention I was attracted to you, which is new?”

He chuckled, taking the compliment and running with it. Clint was more used to her bringing up his looks as part of a tease. But that look was giving him ideas…ones he saw no point in ignoring anymore. Hell, not when she’d been trying to get him to act on those ideas for so long.

Laying down on his side alongside her, he reached over and cupped her cheek, turning her head gently to look at him. He met her wide eyes unabashed. “You’re beautiful, Bobbi,” he said, meaning it. “Don’t know why I was blind for so long to what you were trying to tell me.” And he leaned forward to kiss her at last.

She was frozen, hardly able to believe that he was kissing her, after so long. It didn’t make any sense…but in a way, it did. This was out of pity, wasn’t it? He’d found out, and now… Now he was going to give her what he thought she wanted, a night with him. It wasn’t what she wanted, though. She wanted more than one night, as much and as long as she could get him in her life.

But if all he was going to give her was one…she’d take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next chapter is pure smut, if that isn't your jam, you CAN skip it, both this one and that one really end on the same tone. If you do wish to skip it, no fear, just skip down to the bottom of the next chapter so you can see what's going on with the next story. I'll probably post that early, here in a couple of days, just because it is a fluff chapter.


	14. Just One Night...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miscommunication continues, at least in the emotional sense. The sex, not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, whole chapter is smut. No likey, skipping, I'm going to pretty much ignore any comments about the content here.

Bobbi surged against him, kissing him back and demanding more. He smiled against her mouth, and then mouthed her lower lip, seeking entrance that she was more than willing to give him. Their tongues tangled together, and she moaned, heat flooding her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, needing to touch him, to anchor her.

Clint shifted her with a hand on her hip so she was fully on the bed. He nudged her legs apart so he could lie between them, keeping his kisses deep and unhurried. She moaned when she felt him through his pants and her nightgown, suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in her abdomen. Bobbi tugged urgently at his shirt, wanting to feel the skin she’d admired from afar for so long.

He chuckled into the kiss, breaking it to give into her demands for him to remove the t-shirt. Her eagerness was sweet relief to him, not that he was about to admit to her that he had been stuck in a long stretch of abstinence (for him) after one of her kisses, satisfied only if it was her.

And oh, the satisfaction. Clint groaned as calloused fingers ran over his chest, seeking where to bring him pleasure. Somehow, they felt better than he’d dreamed. He slipped his other shirt off of her shoulders, kissing down her jawline and neck. She squirmed, trying to get the stiff white fabric to give without removing her hands. He used the distraction to slip one ridiculously thin strap off her shoulder, kissing tanned skin.

“Clint,” she murmured his name in his ear, running her fingers down his back. “Hurry up.” It wasn’t quite begging, but it was enough to urge him on.

“What’s the rush, Morse?” he teased, but he did tug the nightgown down to her waist. He licked his lips at what he saw, smooth skin with nary a tan mark (which gave him all sort of pleasant thoughts to think on later), full breasts that weren’t too large or small for her frame, a narrow waist, muscles underneath it all that spoke to her strength. He wanted to taste that tanned skin, find out what she tasted like, and manipulate every pleasure spot he could.

Bobbi had to let go of him to get her arms out of the tangle of cloth and straps he’d put them in, and he slid down her body while she did it, licking and nibbling along her collarbone. She quickly grabbed the back of his head once she’d worked his shirt off of the edge of the bed and out of their way and her arms out of the nightgown. But he refused to let her tug him back up for more kisses. He had a mission of his own. He used one forearm to hold his weight, freeing the other to touch her better.

Cupping one of her breasts, he quirked a brow when all that got him was an impatient huff. Rubbing his thumb over her nipple got her to squirm against the mattress, but not much else. He wasn’t necessarily surprised. Bobbi wasn’t the first field agent he’d slept with, and he knew how to deal with whatever it was most of them did to themselves that made their breasts less sensitive to his touch. Actually, he liked it better this way. Meant he could be less careful with them.

Bobbi tried to press her legs together to relieve the ache that was building, despite the fact Clint was between them and making that impossible. He was going so _slow,_ it was about to drive her _insane_. She needed him to move, to help her relieve the tension he was stirring. Not rub at her chest that wouldn’t do much for her. She opened her mouth to protest, to demand or beg him to move on already.

He changed his hand on her breast to a full squeeze, grinding the palm of his hand against her breast. The words died on her tongue, turning into a strangled gasp at the sudden ache it sent through her, though it was hardly painful. She threw her head back, frantically grabbing at his shoulders.

“You like that, Bobbi?” he whispered against her skin, even as he kept squeezing and griping her breast, making her rock her hips against his desperately at the unexpected pleasure. Her nipples were hardening into stiff peaks, much to her surprise, since she’d never really noticed it happening before.

“Yes,” she moaned, whimpering when he licked his way to her other breast, sucking on her nipple and running his teeth along it. It wasn’t the same, deep ache his hand was giving her, but it still went right between her legs and to her clit. She didn’t need to touch herself to know how wet and swollen she had to be by now. “Please,” she pleaded, “Please, I need you inside me.”

Clint groaned, feeling his cock twitch. She begged prettily, better than he could have thought her capable of, considering her normal bossiness. He let her nipple go with a pop and sat back on his knees so he could get the annoying bit of satin out of his way from where it had bunched up around her waist. He almost growled at her when he slipped it down her hips and found nothing else there. “You trying to kill me?” he asked, tossing the last bit of her clothing away from them. “No underwear, really?”

“I wore clothes to bed, period. Consider yourself lucky,” she countered, licking her lower lip as she looked him up and down. Clint smirked, always glad to see that reaction. She sat up and tugged at his pants, sliding them farther down his hips.

He didn’t want to think about what she said too hard, he just knew it. Instead, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her, and kissed her to distract her from her goal. She moaned and eagerly kissed him back. While they fed from each other’s mouths, he slid his hands down her parted thighs, sliding one to her hip and the other to part damp bronze curls. Bobbi jumped, but quickly spread her legs further apart for him eagerly.

But what he found made him pull back and nip her lower lip. “You aren’t wet enough yet,” he told her bluntly, rubbing his fingers around her entrance. Oh, she was wet, and that was tempting as hell. But not enough for taking all of him to be a comfortable experience for her. She whined in protest, but he ignored her, leaning in and forcing her back on her back. He went for the hollow of her throat with his lips and teeth, making her squirm and whimper.

Meanwhile, he found the swollen nub that was her clit. She squealed when he rubbed against it firmly, trying to both jerk closer and farther away at the same time. Clint chuckled and kept up the pressure, circling firmly until he felt her entrance relax enough that he could slip one of his fingers inside. His amusement faded a little as she squeezed her inner muscles around it, making her feel so tight. _Shit._ He might be in trouble.

Bobbi panted as she saw his eyes darken in lust, hoping that meant he was done teasing her. She didn’t quite believe him about not being wet—his fingers were slipping around her so easily, and she felt so close to coming. She bit her lower lip, trying to keep a little quieter as he pressed a second finger inside of her. It was absent the slight burn she expected, and unlike her own awkward attempts, Clint knew exactly where to press inside of her to make her ache. Not to mention his fingers were longer than hers, rough and thick but still not enough. She bucked her hips, trying to rush him.

He nipped her ear, making her gasp, and he pressed against something inside of her that sent her right to that hard clench of her inner muscles. She moaned, sure now that she’d missed her chance…except he didn’t stop. Bobbi fought the instinctive panic as he pressed insistently against her clit, almost painful pleasure making her clench tighter around his fingers. But it was more than she could handle. “Stop,” she panted against his shoulder, trying to squirm away. “It’s too much.”

“Too much?” he repeated as he slid down her body, licking between her breasts and down her stomach, pausing only to lap at her belly button. He didn’t quite understand what she meant, and wasn’t thinking clearly enough to figure it out on his own.

She squirmed and whimpered, almost pulling away from him but not quite. “I’m too… too sensitive,” she gasped as he gave a particularly hard thrust of his fingers against the sweet spot inside of her. “After I come, I’m too sensitive. Stop.”

Clint did pause his thumb over her clit, but it was in surprise. She thought she’d already come? He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from either laughing or swearing, he wasn’t sure which. On one hand, he didn’t want to know what other lovers Bobbi had before him. On the other, he kinda did so he could go kick the guy’s (or guys’) ass for not taking care of her like he should have before worrying about himself.

Rather than stop, he pressed a third finger inside her, testing her readiness. She whimpered and squirmed, but when he wiggled his fingers in and out of her, it was smooth, with no friction. She was ready. “Clint!” she protested, reaching down to grab his wrist.

He leaned up again and grabbed her lips in a kiss that was not gentle. She moaned in surprise, and he used it as a chance to press his fingers hard against that spot inside of her, rubbing insistently. She broke away from his mouth with a cry, her back arching as her muscles spasmed around his fingers and making him groan. It wasn’t an orgasm, just the beginnings of one, and he couldn’t wait to feel the real thing around his cock.

But first, he had to break her misconception. “You haven’t come yet,” he told her, brushing his lips against hers in a teasing touch. She fluttered her eyes open to look at him in disbelief, and he smirked. “Just the warm up, Bobbi. But for the rest, I hope there’s a box of condoms somewhere.”

She bit her lower lip, and he had to kiss her, the temptation was too great. She moaned and when they broke apart, she licked her lips and his by proximity. “Married couple,” she reminded him of who they were pretending to be. “I doubt it.”

Clint rested his forehead against her shoulder with a sigh, pulling his fingers out of her for now. They’d have to do something else, for lack of protection. But she surprised him. She still had a hold of his wrist, and used it to bring his wet fingers up to her mouth. She licked them clean, not seeming to care in the least where they had been…and not doing a shred of good for his control. “Bobbi,” he groaned, whether in warning or begging, he wasn’t sure.

She pulled away from his fingers with a scrape of her teeth against his fingertips, making him harden further in need. “We’re both clean,” she said, with a tone of voice that said if she was wrong in that assumption, he’d better speak up now. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over her hip, waiting to hear what the next part of her statement was, since he heard an “and” hanging there.

Only he stilled at the feeling of warmed, slick plastic. He rolled her over slightly so he could see what he was touching. A little square sticker was against her skin, he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“A birth control patch,” she whispered in his ear before nibbling along the curve. It was SHIELD protocol that all female field agents were on some sort of birth control, just to be safe. The pills were too big of a hassle for most, but she’d had one bad reaction to the shot and swore it off. The other forms just squicked her out. And it was more effective than any condom, anyway. She kissed him again, soundly. “We’ll be fine,” she assured him.

Clint stilled, letting her roll back on to her back. He stared down at her, trying to remind himself of his rules. Never have sex without a condom. Keep both parties safe. But she was right, he was clean and he trusted her if she said she was. And with the patch… The temptation was too strong. He wanted to feel her without the barrier when she found that peak that she’d never felt before.

He kissed her once, quickly, and then slid the lounge pants off. Her eyes brightened, and she welcomed him into her embrace eagerly, kissing down his neck. Clint shuddered when he rubbed the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling how wet she was. He adjusted her legs on either side of his hips and slowly started to press inside of her, biting the inside of his lip. “Damn,” he swore out loud in her ear. “You’re so tight.”

Bobbi whimpered, trying to relax with the sudden girth inside of her. He was thicker than anything she’d used before, a lot thicker. His words helped some, giving her something else to focus on. It didn’t burn, but she could feel her muscles stretching around him, adjusting. She ran her hands down his back, and he nuzzled her neck, nipping her skin as he kept pressing inside.

She sighed when he reached the deepest inside of her she’d ever been stretched, relieved that this was going so much better than her own experiments…and then he pushed deeper. She moaned, nudging his head and bringing his mouth back to hers in a deep kiss. He gladly opened his mouth to hers, tongues mimicking what was happening below. She whimpered when his length rubbed against something deep inside, making her squirm.

He grabbed both of her hips firmly to keep her still, starting to rock against her and going a little further each time. It made her cry out as tension wound tighter in her stomach, muscles clenching in what she had always thought was an orgasm, but he insisted wasn’t. It was overwhelming, and she could feel from how he held his hips that he still wasn’t all the way inside of her. “Too much,” she gasped, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “It’s too much.”

Clint groaned, and nipped her neck a little harder. She was killing him. “You gotta relax,” he said. He kept up his rocking, shuddering as she squeezed down on his length inside of her, needing to get all the way inside. She was so wet and warm, it was almost more than he could take. It didn’t help that her words were sending male satisfaction coursing through him.

She whimpered and met his thrusts with a clench of her muscles. If that didn’t make him groan, her words would. “You’re too big,” she protested, trembling as she ran her hands over his chest. “God, Clint…” She threw her head back, panting for breath.

It was the last straw. With a snap of his hips, he pushed the rest of the way inside of her, gritting his teeth as she immediately clenched down on him, sending almost painful pleasure down his spine to the base of his back. She gave a sharp cry, and he moaned against her neck. “Shit, Bobbi,” he hissed. “You feel so good around me.”

She moaned and ground up against him, urging him to move. He did so gladly, keeping his thrusts shallow and slow at first as he let her adjust to him. Not that it lasted. She was so impatient, pushing back to meet his thrusts and pressing her breasts into his chest. Her mouth started to suck at the sensitive places on his neck, making his cock throb deep inside of her. He had to distract her before he lost it too soon. He brought her mouth to his to kiss her, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

Bobbi moaned into the kiss, flexing her fingers on his shoulders as she tried to anchor herself. The pain and slight burn of his last push inside of her was fading, leaving behind nothing but a deep, almost pulsing ache that had her about to lose her mind. The tension was more than she could bear, and suddenly it frightened her as it just kept coiling. “Clint,” she gasped his name as she pulled away from his lips. He met her eyes, and she bit her lower lip to muffle the sharp cry his next, hard thrust inside of her sparked.

He smirked and cupped her hip, pausing his rhythm to grind against her and put pressure on her clit. She couldn’t stop the pleasure-filled wail if she’d tried. “I want to hear you,” he scolded, kissing her neck and groaning as she clenched around him. “I want to hear every sigh and scream as you come.”

She still hadn’t? Her eyes widened and she clutched at him, desperate. “I can’t,” she panted, shaking her head with a whimper. “Please, I... Oh!” She yelped as he picked up his pace again, flushing as she heard the wet slaps of his length sliding in and out of her, especially since it just made her arousal worse in a vicious cycle.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, biting her harder without meaning to as she spasmed around him. She cried out, the pain feeding into the pleasure she was feeling instead of taking away from it, sending a fresh surge of slickness around his cock. Damn it. He wasn’t going to last. “Stop fighting it, Bobbi.” She was so impossibly tight around him, so close and yet staying right at the edge.

“I can’t,” she repeated, grinding against him with a whimpering wail and completely contradicting what she was saying.

“You can,” he said, and he lost control of his mouth, which he had been trying to curb until he found out how much she liked it. “I won’t stop until you come on my cock, even if it takes all night.” She suddenly clenched down harder on him, surprising him. “Fuck,” he gasped, grabbing her ass so he could pull her tight against him, trying to get more of that.

Her nails bit into his shoulders, sending sparks of pleasure through him as she choked on a scream.

“That it,” he encouraged her, his voice husky as he held on to his own pleasure by tooth and nail. Not without her. “Fuck, that’s it. Come for me, Bobbi.” He started barely rocking against her, sensing she needed shallow and deep right now, to finally give in.

She didn’t want to. It was all too intense, and it was like she was strung too tight. It scared her, like getting caught in the undertow. But he wouldn’t be denied, and Bobbi felt the choice get taken away from her by her body. The coil in her abdomen suddenly released, and she screamed as it took her under. The waves of pleasure were more than she could have ever thought, making her shudder and clench, desperately trying to hang on to them even as they grew stronger.

Over her, she heard Clint cuss again and give a shout of his own, and she whimpered at the sudden rush of wetness and heat inside of her, prolonging her own climax.

At last, her trembling ceased, and she could feel his weight settled over her. It wasn’t too much, at least right now. Bobbi sighed and nuzzled his neck, unbelievably happy even if it was temporary. She squeaked in surprise when he rolled them over so he was on her back and she was lying on his chest, him still inside of her. But she calmed easily enough as he ran his hand up and down her back soothingly. Bobbi tucked her head under his chin, content to listen to his heart beat as it slowed down to a more normal pace.

She shuddered and gasped when he stiffened inside of her, startling her out of her doze. “Clint?” she questioned, raising her head.

He smirked down at her and raised them up so he was leaning against the padded headboard, helping her sit on her heels across his lap. Bobbi whimpered as it forced him to shift and rub against the sensitive places inside of her. “What are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly, holding on to his shoulders for balance.

Nuzzling her neck, he kissed her gently, holding her hips as he rocked up into her. She moaned and rubbed her chest against his, shocked at how eager she felt for more despite what had just happened. Again, so soon?

“I’m finishing what you started back on that jet, Morse,” he told her, voice deep and sending shivers down her back. And then he kissed her again like they had that day she brought him back from going rogue, using his grip on her hips to raise and lower her on his length. And all she could do was hold on for the ride with trembling fingers. It was going to be a long, wild night, and that filled her with both glee…and dread…for the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that completes this first story of this series. The next is set around the events of Iron Man 3, basically what was going on with some of our favorite SHIELD agents during that time. There will be action, drama, and these two managing to be dum dums...as well as finding out the big secrets in Bobbi's past that I hinted at in this story.
> 
> As for when will it be out? Hard to say. We just finished the RP up to the point where I wanted to cut off at, but I'm not just copying and pasting our RP here, I'm just using it as a base because sometimes my partner comes up with better reactions for Clint than I would. And sometimes I don't like how it went and would prefer for it to go another way. But it will hopefully be out sometime here within the next year, I am taking a few months away from it though for sake of my sanity.


End file.
